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C£P¥EIGHT DEPOSm 



The Sword Unsheathed 



By R. H. LANGFORD 

v 

Author of "War Poems," "Thoughts in Prose 
and Rhyme" etc., etc. 




"Sub hoc signo vinces." 



FRANKLIN HUDSON PUB. CO. 
PUBLISHERS KANSAS CITY 



&4? 



<° K 



Copyrighted, 191 8, by 
R. H. Langford. 



MAR 23 1918 



©GLA492681 



To the Fighting Boys of the Free Alliance , 
whom we all love and delight to 
honor, this book is re- 
spectfully ded- 
icated. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Almost any one, having an ordinary education, one of the 
component parts being a fair knowledge of the rules of grammar, 
with a subject within the scope of the general information of 
the party thereto, should be able to write a book. Whether 
it would be read by the masses, would depend largely on the 
subject matter, and also on the ability of the author to clothe 
the skeleton of his story in attractive garb. To write a book is 
comparatively easy, but to write an introduction is a task much 
more difficult of accomplishment. 

In this critical period of the world's history, when wars 
and rumors of wars are as common as the partaking of our 
daily bread, every patriotic individual is anxious to do his "bit" 
to bring to a final and successful issue the momentous world 
struggle which should not be settled — and, please God, will 
not be settled — until peace and righteousness prevail, and 
when all national disputes will be adjudicated without recourse 
to the arbitrament of arms. 

Since this Country was plunged into the vortex of war, I 
have, occasionally, in moments of recreation, jotted down my 
thoughts in rhyme, and given them to the public, hoping that 
something I might write would cheer some drooping heart, or 
bring a smile to some sad face. Having accumulated quite a 
bundle of material, and being urged by friends to do so, I have 
concluded to offer my productions in the form of a book, dedi- 
cating it to the Soldier Boys of America and the Boys of the 
Allied Nations of the world, who are fighting, and are willing to 
fight to the bitter end, so that tyranny may be stamped out 
and justice prevail. 

Now, as to the book itself, it is not as good as many, and 



8 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

very much better than some which have been written; and, 
moreover, it possesses one very admirable quality: There is 
nothing in it to contaminate either the reader's morals, his 
politics, or his religion. To the contrary, if he who peruses 
this little volume will carefully store up the facts and fancies 
contained therein, it will enable him to meet the world with 
stronger confidence and brighter cheer. 

Anyway the child is born, and will be thrust out into a 
critical world, either to meet with the condemnation or ap- 
probation of those on whom it calls, but is sent out with the 
hope that it may accomplish unmeasured good wherever it 
finds a resting-place. In this connection let me say, if, like 
Noah's dove, it fails to find dry land on whch to set its feet, 
it will still bear the olive branch of peace and good fellowship. 

And now tlie author's most ardent hopes and sincerest 
wishes are, that every one who makes his acquaintance through 
the purchase and perusal of his little book will be the happier 
and the better for the acquaintance, that our acquaintance 
may ripen into friendship, and that our friendship may be as 
endless and as solid as the everlasting hills. 

The Author. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

Introduction, 7 

Patriotic Poems: 

Wake Up! 15 

The Sammees, 17 

A War Dieam, 18 

Over the Top, 20 

The Nation's Dead, 21 

Says He to Me, 23 

Jarnie Is Awa', 24 

The Soldier-Boy's Death, 26 

The Battle, 28 

Displeasure, 30 

In the Army, 31 

Belgium and France, 32 

Our Fathers' God, 34 

U. S. A., 35 

His Courage Returned, 36 

What 's in It? 38 

The Song of the Navy Man, 39 

After the Battle, 40 

Ower the Sea, 41 

The Soldiers' Return, 43 

The She-Wolf's Whelps, 44 

The Allied Flags, 45 

Goldenrod, 46 

The Kaiser's Work, 48 

The Veteran's Dream, 50 

The Sunbeam, 52 

Old Glory, 53 

Humorous and Dialect Poems : 

When Pa Led in Prayer, 57 

A Presentation, 61 

Teddy Interned, 63 



io THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Page 
Humorous and Dialect Poems: 

Vatch Ouid! 64 

Dewey an' the German, 66 

Don't Kick, 68 

Ower the Ocean, 70 

Well! 71 

Bill and Beelzebub, 72 

Jim Slick, •. 74 

Don't Crowd, 76 

Signs of Spring, 78 

Rab's Return, . 80 

Makin' a Winnin', 82 

Dewey, 84 

The Minstrel's Lay, 86 

Bright and Fair, 87 

A New Hame, 89 

Baseball Excuses, 92 

Mother's Cooking, 94 

St. Peter and the Broker, 95 

The Parin' Bee, 97 

Religious, Moral, and Didactic Poems: 

Be Just, 103 

Resurgam, 105 

Griefs and Joys, 105 

Bitter-Sweet, 107 

Clouds and Sunbeams, 109 

Drifting, in 

Life's Changes, 113 

My Sainted Mother, 114 

Life's History, 116 

A Place of Rest, 118 

Truth, i20* 

The Heavenly Land, 122 

Heavenly Light, 124 

A Kingly Crown, 125 

The Golden Gate, 126 

If I Were a Man, 128 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. n 

Page 
Reugious, Moral, and Didactic Poems: 

If I Were a Boy, 130 

A Fragment, 132 

The Coming Morn, 133 

Blessed Hope, 134 

Lost Treasures, 135 

Over the Sea, 136 

Summer Days, 138 

Mother's Love, 140 

Welcome, Spring, 141 

The Story of the Wind, 143 

Wearing a Mask, 145 

Closer Than a Brother, 146 

Blanche of Innisvale, 147 

Rosalinda, 149 

Gathering Home, 150 



PATRIOTIC POEMS. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 15 



WAKE UP! 

Wake up, ye sons of Liberty ! 

Your country is at war; 
Unfurl the banner of the free, 

And fling its folds afar. 
Let every hamlet, every town, 

Send out its strong and brave; 
'Tis yours to crush the tyrant down, 

Democracy to save. 

Heed not the shouts of traitor hordes, 

Nor cowards' craven cry; 
But like the sons of nature's lords, 

Go forth to do and die. 
Go forth to tramp oppression down, 

On land and rolling sea; 
On Freedom's brow to place a crown 

Of blood-bought Liberty. 

Wake up, ye sires of noble sons ! 

'Tis yours to bring the gold, 
So men may go with sword and guns 

In Freedom's cause enrolled; 
Most freely of your treasures give, 

Pour out your hidden hoard, 
That Peace and Righteousness may live, 

And sheathed may be the sword. 

Wake up, ye mothers of the land ! 
Yours is the sweeter part, 



16 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

To comfort with a soothing hand, 
And cheer the drooping heart; 

So do your duty, stay your tears, 
Tho' all looks sad and drear, 

Jehovah will assuage your fears, 
And to your hearts bring cheer. 

Ye daughters of the land, wake up! 

Be sweethearts true and brave; 
For though you drain the bitter cup 

A nation's life to save, 
'Tis yours in all its joy to know, 

When strife and war shall cease, 
A golden stream with ceaseless flow, 

Shall bring God-given peace. 

Tho' we may not have raised our boy 

To be a soldier brave, 
If for the world — oh, sacred joy! — 

Like Christ his life he gave, 
Shall we not with our hearts aflame 

Bow down and kiss the rod, 
And then to all the world proclaim 

Our boy is like his God? 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 17 



THE SAMMEES. 

You may prattle of peace 'twixt the Russ and the Hun; 
You may speak of the battles the British have won ; 
You may watch the great ships that are cutting the air, 
But you '11 never have peace till the Sammees get there. 

You may say that the Kaiser no longer wants war, 
You may see the sun rising on peace from afar ; 
You may hope that the Germans may die of despair, 
But you'll never have peace till the Sammees get there. 

The sons of this Nation are drawing their sword, 
They will go to the front in the name of the Lord; 
We ask Thee, Great God, for these children to care, 
For we '11 never have peace till the Sammees get there. 

The Germans may sink all the ships on the sea, 
And the Allies may battle to set the world free; 
In the North and the South Uncle Sam will prepare, 
For you cannot have peace till the Sammees get there. 

The Tommies will bravely jump over the top, 
And nothing in hades the Frenchmen can stop ; 
But tho' these brave veterans may do and may dare, 
You will never have peace till the Sammees get there. 

To our brave fighting Allies may nothing do harm, 
May naught ever happen to cause them alarm ; 
May the Great God of Battles His Power make bare, 
And then we'll have peace when the Sammees get there. 



18 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



A WAR DREAM. 

The god Morpheus lured me with his charms, 

And as I slept in calm repose, it seemed, 
That as he rocked me in his spacious arms, 

I saw a country that with plenty teemed. 
I saw a land where broad green fields abound, 

And hosts, unnumbered, of peace-loving men, 
Were gathering riches from this fertile ground, 

Beyond the wildest hopes of mortal ken. 

I viewed the people of each clime and tongue, 

A vast procession freely gathered there, 
Each beating heart with lovely music strung, 

The chant of Freedom filled the balmy air. 
And so within this fair land of my dream 

The notes of happiness forever swell, 
Till to my slumb'ring senses it would seem 

But angels in that fairy land may dwell. 

The scene was changed. I saw a gathering cloud, 

Low in the darkened sky begin to form ; 
I heard the rolling thunders, long and loud, 

That oft portend the coming of the storm. 
I saw the vivid tongues of lightning flash, 

Like lurid streaks of fire across the sky ; 
It seemed as tho' huge world on world would crash, 

And nations sink with one heartrending cry. 

Now, in my dream, I viewed a monstrous thing, 
Rise up in all its selfishness and power, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 19 

Destruction to this prosperous land to bring, 

And all its hoard of riches to devour. 
With sick'ning fear, I saw this Nation lie 

In quiet slumber on its peaceful bed ; 
Nowhere came forth one earnest warning cry, 

No guiding hand these quiet millions led. 

This fiendish monster deluged lands in blood, 

And sacrificed his people to his lust; 
His warriors, rolling forward like a flood, 

Crushed puny foes and humbled them in dust. 
He preyed upon all ships on neutral seas, 

Respecting not the life of man or child, 
A murderer bold "by God's divine decrees," 

No neutral country but by him reviled. 

Now in my dream this Nation wakes from sleep, 

All are astir and filled with martial life; 
Ten million soldiers constant vigils keep, 

All panoplied for a successful strife. 
And in this dream, I see this force arrayed, 

Unfalt'ring warriors, in a righteous fight, 
Who never shall be conquered or dismayed, 

For God himself upholds the truth and right. 

I hear the clash of arms and in my dream, 

I see the men of Belial melt away; 
I know our glorious army shall redeem 

Each fallen country from a tyrant's sway. 
Let all the people rise and do their part, 

To keep the patriotic fire ablaze 
Which burns in every freeman's loyal heart 

To lead him on to vict'ry's coming days. 



20 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

The scene was changed. The Beast had fought in vain, 

His mighty armies in subjection stand; 
The best of all his mighty men are slain, 

And he is banished from the Fatherland. 
I see this Nation, chastened by the rod, 

Lay all her panoply of war aside ; 
And looking upward to her Master, God, 

Say for His cause our heroes fought and died. 



OVER THE TOP. 

The Germans may say we are slow on the move, 
A fact Gen'ral Pershing will quickly disprove; 
There '11 be something doing that nothing can stop, 
When our brave laddies "go over the top." 

I hear the boys shout when the lines all advance, 
The ping of our bullets will make the Huns dance ; 
And many a German will take his last flop, 
When our brave laddies "go over the top." 

Some people assert we are ready to fight, 
And in some respects I believe they are right; 
We '11 join in the melee with broom-stick or mop, 
When our brave laddies "go over the top." 

So come when you will, boys, or go when you may, 
We know you arc ready to join in the fray; 
To use a slang phrase, "you will hear something drop,' 
When our brave laddies "go over the top.' ' 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 21 

Our boys will be ready for Vandal and Hun, 
And try for conclusions with saber and gun ; 
You may bet your last kopek that hades will pop, 
When our brave laddies "go over the top." 

So here's to your health, boys; stand up for the right; 
For peace that will suit us, we 're willing to fight; 
It's on to Berlin then before we will stop, 
When our brave laddies "go over the top." 



THE NATION'S DEAD. 

With faces to the summer sky upturned, 

The loyal brave rest in an endless sleep ; 
The Nation's dead are by the living mourned, 

While o'er their graves we gently pause and weep. 
No more by them the rolling drum is heard, 

No more by them the bugle's clarion blast; 
Their souls no more by martial music stirred, 

The scenes of battle are forever passed. 

We view them resting on their sacred bier, 

Who gallantly have met their country's foes, 
Whose loyal hearts have never quaked with fear, 

Slumbering now in undisturbed repose. 
The silent grave enfolds them to her breast, 

The springing grass is now their funeral pall ; 
They gently slumber in an endless rest, 

No more they answer to the Nation's call. 

The headstone often bears the word "Unknown," 
Yet where they sleep is consecrated ground; 



22 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Perchance a mother's wandering wayward son 
Within this spot a resting-place has found. 

Tho' none can tell of them, nor why they came, 
Nor who they are, nor what they once had been, 

Tho' each headstone is found without a name, 
Yet by the living are their graves kept green. 

Each year we on their graves the flowers strew, 

And weep with those who over dear ones weep; 
Each year the living with their tears bedew 

The narrow chambers where these loved ones sleep. 
For deeds of bravery done, we homage pay 

To fallen brave ones whom we dearly love, 
And o 'er their graves we chant a solemn lay, 

Till we shall meet them in the realms above. 

The cycling years roll onward and away, 

The Nation's dead awaken never more; 
No more they stand in battle's stern array, 

No more they hear the cannon's thunder roar. 
Children may prattle o 'er each grassy mound, 

Still deep their slumber, lying side by side ; 
Death spreads her sable mantle all around, 

They know the dawn that has no eventide. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 23 



SAYS HE TO ME. 

Jim, that 's my friend, sjays he to me, 

Says he, "John, don't you think, 
Since Hoover made his food decree, 

It puts us on the blink? 
On bread and cake it raised the price, 

Increased the cost of meat; 
So we must live on corn and rice, 

And have much less to eat." 

Says I to him, "Now, Jim," says I, 

"Don't let your anger sway 
Your thots, nor yet your speech decry 

What Uncle Sam may say. 
He handles both our bread and meat, 

That armies may be fed, 
So we 11 quit using grease and eat 

Lop-lolly on our bread." 

Says Jim to me, says he, again, 

"Now, John, about our coal, 
Do you not think that in the main, 

Since Garfield has control, 
The man who operates the mine 

Has little to endure? 
He is the chap that 's doing fine, 

But what about the poor?" 

"Now, Jim," says I, "old boy, be calm; 
We 're loyal to the core, 



24 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

And so we 11 stick with Uncle Sam, 
Tho' prices skyward soar. 

We '11 buy of bonds, and eat of mush, 
We 11 save each pound of food ; 

Though starving, we will make no fuss, 
But say, by gosh, it's good." 

Says Jim to me, says he, "Old boy, 

I like the way you shout, 
'Twould fill me with unbounded joy 

To run the Kaiser out; 
So we will strive to reach the goal, 

The tyrant's sway to kill, 
And save up every ounce of coal 

To heat up hell for Bill." 



JAMIE IS AWA\ 

The birds may sing their simmer sangs, 

The lovely flowers bloom; 
But still my hairt for Jamie langs, 

An' sadness is my doom. 
My hairt ca 's loudly for my lad, 

The bitter tears doonfa', 
I am nae langer blithe an' glad, 

For Jamie is awa'. 

My Jamie 's gane awa' to f echt, 
Far ower the deep blue sea; 

An' I shall fin' this warl' a wecht, 
Till he comes back tae me. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 25 

The sleet may cling tae shrub an' tree, 

The chilly winds may blaw, 
Thae wintry blasts I e 'en must dree, 

While Jamie is awa\ 

Could I but gae wi' him to France, 

An' loupin' by his side, 
Gae over the top wi' wild advance, 

I 'd swoom the ocean wide ; 
But as they willna let me gang, 

My tears will constant fa', 
Still wi' the wark I will be thrang, 

While Jamie is awa'. 

Ye gods o' war, will ye nae help, 

Whaur thousan's fa' an' dee, 
Thae Kaiser tae defeat an ' skelp, 

An' set the nations free? 
Then I shall greet nae mair, ava, 

But be a sonsie dame ; 
My sweethairt is nae mair awa', 

For Jamie has cam hame. 



26 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



THE SOLDIER-BOY'S DEATH.* 

Like lightning flash from azure sky, 

The telegram is sped, 
To bear the news that one beloved 

Is numbered with the dead. 
It speaks of one whose life went out 

Upon the tented field, 
Who for his love of Truth and Right 

A love divine revealed. 

In answer to his country's call, 

With never -failing zeal, 
He bade farewell to friends and home, 

Nor heeded love's appeal 
To stay with those most dear to him — 

Such pleasure he decried — 
With tear-filled eyes, but loyal heart, 

He went, and bravely died. 

Tho' in his dire distress and need, 

When pain had dulled his brain, 
He called for her and longed to hear 

His mother's voice again, 
No gentle, loving touch was his, 

No mother's fond caress; 
No father's kindly voice to cheer, 

No father's prayer to bless. 



♦Lines written on the death of John Lauder, son of Harry Lauder, 
the noted Scotch comedian. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 27 

He died, and though we mourn his loss, 

Joy comes thru bitter tears ; 
We hear the Master's voice that speaks 

And drives away our fears. 
He says: "For Freedom's cause let none 

The soldier's love deride, — 
I loved a stricken, sin-cursed world, 

And for that world I died." 

An angel dressed in purest white 

Points to the skies above, 
And with a voice of tenderness 

Declares the soldier's love. 
He loved his country and for her 

His youthful life was given ; 
He crossed the great divide alone, 

But waits for us in heaven. 

Oh, proudly wave our Country's flag- 
Above the soldier's grave ! 

Let stalwart men their homage pay 
To loyal hearts, and brave; 

Let him who loves his country sing 
Her praises, loud and long, 

And for the brave acts of our sons, 
Pour forth a joyous song. 



28 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



THE BATTLE. 

Low in the west fast sinks the orb of light, 

And all the sky takes on a ruddy hue ; 
The length'ning shades, sure harbingers of night, 

Stalk forth as soldiers on a grand review. 
Somewhere within the realm of stricken France, 

Where trenches with their warring millions teem, 
The scene is viewed with panoramic glance, 

The fading sunlight on the bayonets gleam. 

The serried ranks of vast unnumbered hosts, 

Brave warriors by undaunted heroes led, 
Come marching forth like silent, moving ghosts, 

As though all graves had yielded up their dead. 
Like lulling wind before the breaking storm 

Drives forth with dire destruction in its path, 
So, without beating drum, battalions form, 

Each soldier awful in his silent wrath. 

Quick o'er the top the Tommies madly dash, 

The signal for the forward move has come, 
Opposing forces meet with hellish crash — 

Before such strife the hosts of heaven are dumb. 
Now comes the deadly clash of steel to steel, 

Contending armies struggle to and fro ; 
The Teuton columns like a sick man reel, 

The British legions triumph o'er their foe. 

Proud France, of all your grace and beauty shorn, 
Still flaunt your flag; may your cohorts increase 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 29 

Till Freedom's pearl each nation's crown adorn, 
And every country's watchword shall be "Peace." 

Bon dieu! uphold this noble, Gaulic land, 
That fights so grandly for a fallen race, 

Till all the nations travel hand in hand, 

And every country finds its cherished place. 

Thank God ! our noble veterans hold the field 

Against the ranks of Vandal and of Hun ; 
May they not to the tyrant's forces yield, 

Till victory over German greed is won. 
May poor, downtrodden Belgium lift her head, 

And gazing westward see a glorious light, 
A token that for all her ravished dead, 

A mighty power will put her foes to flight. 

But of this western star which shines so bright, 

Which sheds its luster over land and sea ! 
Shall she proclaim herself too proud to fight 

These mighty battles for humanity? 
No, in this fearful strife we shall remain, 

Together we shall fight to make men free ; 
What though our sons on foreign soil are slain, 

They give their lives to purchase LIBERTY. 



3Q THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



DISPLEASURE. 

I 'm angry with this German play 

Placed on the stage by Kaiser Bill; 
I 'm filled with choler every day, 

I long some traitor's gore to spill. 
Sometimes I trust 'twill be my luck 

Ten thousand Germans to harass, 
And kill them, as I run amuck, 

With Sampson's jawbone of an ass. 

I purchase bonds, and chew on bran, 

I spread no butter on my bread, 
I strive as none but mortals can, 

So that our soldiers may be fed. 
Sometimes I think 'tis not enough, 

Though I have but a scanty store, 
So if, like some, I had the stuff, 

I'd keep on giving more and more. 

If this old worthless hulk of mine 

Were in the shape that once it was, 
I'd sail across the '* foamy brine," 

And fight like h — 1 to boost the cause. 
Someone has said that war is hell ; 

I care naught if 'tis true or not, 
If future time permits me tell 

That that is what the Kaiser got. 

I 'm sick of hearing of the way 
The "kultured" Germans war and fight; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 31 

Like Syrians, if I had my way, 

They all would vanish in the night. 
I know, if I could meet with Bill, 

He'd have a settlement with me; 
His bread-box full of lead I 'd fill, 

And brain him with my snickersnee. 



IN THE ARMY. 

My boy trains in the infantry, 

My daughter is a nurse, 
And I 'm exerting all my might, 

With ready pen and purse. 
This prospect fills my soul with joy, 

I 'm singing day and night ; 
When our brave millions take the field, 

The Huns will take to flight. 

I long to have them driven back, 

Each butcher get his due, 
For all that they have done against 

The old Red, White, and Blue. 
So here 's good luck to every lad, 

On land and on the sea; 
Fight on until the cause is won 

For Truth and Liberty. 



32 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



BELGIUM AND FRANCE. 

To the sounding of the bugle, boys, 

The rolling of the drum, 
From Maine's bleak shore to Oregon, 

Our gallant boys have come. 
They are bravely speeding forward, 

With ready sword and lance, 
To bear our flag in foreign lands, 

For Belgium and for France. 

With their banners proudly flying, 

They take the tented field, 
"True Freedom" is the shibboleth 

On every burnished shield. 
They demand not great possessions, 

Our riches to enhance, 
But that they may bring victory 

To Belgium and to France. 

As in the days of Washington 

Men struggled to be free, 
And drove the proud oppressor 

To a home across the sea, 
So, when comes the cry for Freedom, 

Our loyal boys advance, 
To meet the ruthless German hordes, 

For Belgium and for France. 

The God of Battles shall adjudge 
The cause for which we fight, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 33 

To be the cause of Christian men, 

Of honesty and right. 
So He will give our gallant sons 

Their often-prayed-for chance, 
To strike upon the battle-field 

For Belgium and for France. 

Our battle-ships and aeroplanes 

Shall scour the air and seas, 
Till every ship with tyrant's flag 

From western waters flees; 
Till every grasping, murd'rous Hun 

Is withered with a glance, 
And Right regains her cherished place 

In Belgium and in France. 

The Frenchmen and the Yankee boys, 

The faithful Tommies too, 
With Briton's rose, French fleur-de-lis, 

And our red, white, and blue, 
Will put to rout her brutish foes, 

Wake Freedom from her trance; 
And drive the hated German hordes 

From Belgium and from France. 



34 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



OUR FATHERS' GOD. 

Mankind is filled with aches and pains, 
Its throbbing heart sings sad refrains, 

Of what it knows and feels ; 
The world appears to have caught fire, 
The earth is one great funeral pyre, 

The structure weaves and reels. 

The fiends of evil are arrayed 
Against God's forces, undismayed. 

The enemy is strong; 
But He who rules the earth and sky, 
Whose power all evil doth defy, 

Shall rectify our wrong. 

O God! our help in former years, 
Help us to banish all our fears, 

And fix our hopes on Thee ; 
Help us to wait the glorious birth 
Of Peace and Happiness on earth, 

That sets all people free. 

We place the future in Thy hands, 
Thou Ruler of all seas and lands, 

Take Thou our hand in Thine; 
Be Thou our might, be Thou our Guide, 
May we with Thee in Peace abide, 

Thou Gracious Power Divine. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 35 



U. S. A. 

The clouds of war bedim the sky, 

In other lands than ours; 
For bread the hapless people cry, 

While want of food devours. 
Gazing beyond the great array 

Of native land and sea, 
Each one may say, "Old U. S. A. 

Is good enough for me." 

Blood-deluged is each foreign shore, 

War-ridden is each land ; 
Bare is the warehouse and the store, 

Unfilled at wealth's demand. 
Some men have traveled far away, 

Those foreign lands to see, 
But each will say, "Old U. S. A. 

Is good enough for me." 

Our boys will cross the stormy sea 

With but one thot in mind, 
To set the countless millions free 

And to the world be kind. 
So when all kingdoms meet decay, 

Thru God's all-wise decree, 
Each one may say, "Old U. S. A. 

Is good enough for me." 

When war and murdering shall end, 
And tyrant's rule shall cease; 



36 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

When every nation shall defend 
A pure God-given peace; 

All eyes will turn to us that day, 
Land of the brave and free ! 

All then will say, "Old U. S. A. 
Is good enough for me!" 



HIS COURAGE RETURNED. 

The time had come to go "over the top," 

But he shook like an aspen leaf, 
Why should he falter and suddenly stop? 

His bosom was aching with grief, 
For he was a coward, afraid to face 

The bullets that whistled and fell. 
It would bring to his pride a sad disgrace 

When history his tale should tell. 

How many a time in bluster and brag, 

When at home in the training camp, 
He had vowed he would be the last to lag, 

In the trenches muddy and damp ; 
But now that the battle in fury raged, 

And bloody and fierce was the fray; 
When he was in desperate strife engaged, 

All his courage had oozed away. 

He was ready to faint with fear and shame, 
For he suffered from gibe and sneer ; 

And he cried, "Oh, Heaven! Am I to blame 
For this awful, cowardly fear?" 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 37 

He knew he was lagging away behind, 

But his heart gave a joyous bound, 
For thoughts of his parents came to his mind, 

And he flew o'er the frozen ground. 

With a terrible yell that rent the air, 

And words that are now forgiven, 
The fellows all knew that Jimmie was there, 

From fear and cowardice riven; 
He had thought of what father said to him, 

As his mother stood proudly by, 
"Don't you ever forget your breedin', Jim, 

In the midst of the battle-cry." 

So now and again when "over the top" 

The boys are all ready to go, 
And nothing on earth this "coward" can stop, 

They always loud praises bestow. 
For he sees once more those eyes that are dim, 

With her who stands silently by, 
And they say, "Remember your breedin', Jim," 

When he hears the fierce battle-cry. 



38 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



WHAT'S IN IT? 

We send our boys forth to a far-distant shore, 

But what is there in it for us? 
Some of our laddies will return never more, 

So what is there in it for us ? 
They will put down both oppression and wrong, 
Stand for the weak, repress those who are strong, 
Till "Freedom and Right" be a world-chanted song, 

And that's what is in it for us. 

Vast armies of men will roll qn like a fldod , 

But what is there in it for us? 
The soil of fair France is now sodden with blood, 

But what is there in it for us? 
The shouts of the boys as the sullen foe flees, 
The right of Old Glory to float in the breeze, 
To be undisturbed on the land and the seas, 

And that's what is in it for us. 

The Tri-colors float over fair La Belle France, 

But what is there in it for us? 
The "Union Jack" flutters as the Britons advance, 

But what is there in it for us? 
An ardent desire to give all men their due, 
Forever to Freedom most loyal and true, 
And stand to a man for "The Red, White, and Blue," 

And that 's what is in it for us. 

Every land has a right to its "place in the sun," 
But what is there in it for us? 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 39 

The enjoyment of pleasure for duty well done, 

But what is there in it for us ? 
Great Ruler of Nations, lead us by the hand 
So all Thy loved people united may stand, 
Be ruled by Thy wisdom and heed Thy command, 

For that's what is in it for us. 



THE SONG OF THE NAVY MAN. 

Oh ! I long to go back to the deep rolling sea — 

Let me gaze once again on its waters so blue ; 
Let me view its rough billows so dashing and free, 

And afloat on its bosom old friendships renew. 
There is nothing so sweet as its health-giving air, 

There is never a sound like its deafening roar, — 
In my visions and dreams I am wandering there, 

But, awaking, I sigh to behold thee once more. 

Oh ! how deep are its waters ! its treasures are rare, 

Its riches unmeasured, its secrets unknown ; 
And thousands of lives have been doomed to despair 

When, angry, its billows have over them flown. 
It is merciless alike to its friends and its foes, 

When angry men try to control it in vain ; 
As the mother on loved ones affection bestows, 

So I long to be rocked on its bosom again. 

Away from the haunts of the haughty and proud, 
To sail on its waters, light-hearted and gay — 

Oh! the wild rolling billow is shouting aloud 
In its soul-stirring music to lead me away. 



40 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

With no prison-like walls to encompass me round, 
With nothing above me but heaven's high dome, 

On its clear, flowing waters true comfort is found, 
And on its broad bosom, the sailor's loved home. 

When the wild wind rages and whitens the crest 

Of the billow that lashes with fury and foam, 
Or when it is lulled into calmness and rest, 

I 'm contented upon its loved waters to roam. 
To dwell on thy waters, on thy billows to ride, 

I delight to spend all my time upon thee; 
And when my ship floats on eternity's tide, 

Let me rise from a grave in the billowy sea. 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

I viewed the scene when cannon's roar 

Had ceased its thund'ring overhead; 
Old Mother Earth was soaked with gore, 

The ground was strewn with ghastly dead. 
The wounded, groaning with their pain, 

Were striving with their parting breath 
To win the fight, but that were vain, 

Against their last great foeman, Death. 

With each face to the sky upturned, 
The mangled dead lay side by side; 

Now lifeless clay, they each had earned 
The right to die as men have died. 

The pale moon sheds her silvery light, 
While silently she glides along; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 41 

The midnight ghouls gaze on the sight, 
Their muttered dirge the only song. 

Thousands in youth and health cut down, 

As falls the grain in harvest time, 
That haughty heads may wear a crown 

And reign as kings in every clime. 
God will require it at the hand 

Of him who caused this frightful thing; 
The guilty ones throughout the land 

He will to speedy Justice bring. 

Great God, shall vile deeds come to pass 

Beneath Thy kindly, watchful eye? 
We plead with Thee, although, alas ! 

Thou hast not hearkened to our cry. 
Yet with a simple, child-like faith, 

Our prayers shall still ascend to Thee; 
While with our last expiring breath, 

We plead that all the world be free. 



OWER THE SEA. 

The winter has come an' the simmer has gane, 

There's naithin' but sadness for me; 
In the cauld wintry winds I sit, cheerless, alane, 

My laddie 's gane ower the sea. 
Some place in the trenches, I canna tell whaur, 

While the teardrops are dimmin' my e'e, 
My laddie is bearin' the hardships o' war, — 

I fear my puir Jamie will dee. 



42 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

The birdies in springtime will tune up their sangs, 

The lambkins will skip on the hill; 
The thorn an' the briar will pit forth their prangs, 

The flow'rets will bloom by the rill ; 
But still when a' nature is clothed in braw dress, 

Nae beauties in springtime I see, 
For the pain my lad suffers brings to me distress, 

I fear my poor Jamie will dee. 

The simmer returns wi' its fruits an' its flowers, 

The violets bloom on the lea; 
The ivy an ' woodbine are green on the bowers, 

The clover hides sweets for the bee. 
They gather this sweetness an' store it awa', 

There 's none o' these pleasures for me ; 
My laddie is gane, an' the saut tears doonfa', 

I fear my puir Jamie will dee. 

I ken that the cause which he fechts for is just, 

An' so I maun suffer the pain ; 
For if a' the empires shall crumble in dust, 

Our hairt-breaks shall not be in vain. 
Under the folds o' the Red, White and Blue 

The people are sonsie an' free, 
An' so I shall ken he was honest an' true, 

Altho' my puir Jamie shall dee. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 43 



THE SOLDIERS' RETURN. 

Echoing notes are sadly falling 

Over distant hill and plain, 
Each with regretful cadence calling, 

"Will the boys come home again?" 
Will we give each a happy greeting 

When the boys return to stay? 
Yes, there will be a happy meeting 

On a future, pleasant day. 

When the boys are homeward wending, 

We shall meet them face to face; 
Mothers with fond arms extending 

Wait to clasp in loved embrace. 
Some far across the sea are sighing 

For the dear ones once again ; 
Some in La Belle France are lying, 

Some are numbered with the slain. 

Our tears with others' tears are blending, 

Mourning for the loyal brave; 
Those who die their homes defending, 

Those who find a soldier's grave. 
The shadows from our hearts are falling, 

Shouts are ringing o'er the plain ; 
The bugle blast is gladly calling, 

"Our brave boys are home again!" 



44 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



THE SHE-WOLF'S WHELPS. 

The name that they give us we do not decry it, 

The call of our Country, we simply defy it; 

We will do as we please, take what we can get, 

Scorn every good law without hindrance or let. 

We 're opposed to the way that our Government acts, 

So we work hard against it, for these are the facts : 

We are unpatriotic, the scum of the earth, 

The wolf was ashamed when she gave the whelps birth. 

The draft is a burden, let the land go to waste, 
We give not a thought though the flag be disgraced. 
We live in this land and enjoy its rich fruits, 
But oppose what is right, for we simply are brutes 
Who love not our Country, but curse and berate 
All good, helpful measures proposed by the State ; 
We are slackers, each one, and refuse we to fight, 
We care not for homeland, for God, or the right. 

If we can contrive to put the Nation in bad, 

We shall greatly rejoice and our hearts will be glad, 

For we feed off its carcass and gnaw at the bone, 

And yet we cry out, "You must let us alone!" 

Our thoughts are inhuman, we are flesh-eating ghouls, 

We have slaken our thirst at the poisonous pools 

Containing the germs of destruction and sin, 

So we ardently hope that our enemies win. 

Untrue to good impulse, and false to each trust, 
Our souls are controlled by sedition and lust; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 45 

We acknowledge no country, nor own we a flag; 
To everything sacred, a hindrance and drag; 
May God in His wisdom unbottle His wrath, 
And remove every slacker from out of His path ; 
Let the she-wolf depart and the whelps go along, 
Is the wish of my heart and the end of my song. 



THE ALLIED FLAGS. 

Hurrah for the great old Union Jack ! 

Bright as ever was flaunted; 
Hurrah for the British bull-dog pack, 

Going to battle undaunted! 

Hurrah for France with her colors three ! 

The blue, the red, and the white; 
Hurrah for those who strike to be free, 

And are not too proud to fight! 

Hurrah for the yellow, and black, and red! 

For Belgium's glorious few; 
Who opposed the Huns, and fought and bled, 

And died for me and for you. 

Hurrah for the colors in Italy's flag! 

Calling her men to glory; 
Let all brave hearts their deeds adore, 

When told in song and story. 

Hurrah for the stripes and shining stars! 
Waving o'er Freedom's haven! 



46 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Borne by Australian sons of Mars, 
Who are not weak nor craven. 

Hurrah for Canada's bright red flag ! 

Its "Buffalo and Fishes"; 
An emblem pure, an honored rag 

As e 'er the bright sun kisses. 

Hurrah for the grand old U. S. Flag ! 

The boys who do not tarry, 
Who will clear for action and away 

Under the Flag they carry. 

The Stars and Stripes! long may they wave 

O'er land and on the sea, 
Till we from Hun and Vandal save, 

And set the nations free. 



GOLDENROD. 

The Scot may love his heather hills, 

The Englishman his rose ; 
But Goldenrod, loved Goldenrod, 

The best of all that grows, 
Thy flowers are much more beautiful 

Than India's banyan tree, 
Or Persian rose, where'er it grows, 

Or France's fleur-de-lis. 

The shamrock loved by Erin's Isle, 
Cactus by Mexico, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 47 

The lilies sweet, for Italy's sons, 

Their rich perfumes bestow, 
But still with me, bright Goldenrod, 

Thy wealth of yellow sheen 
Outstrips by far all flowers that are, 

And crowns thee for a queen. 

The Kaiserblume for old Deutschland 

Is placed beneath the ban ; 
Swiss love sweet-scented edelweiss, 

Chrysanth'ums for Japan; 
Fair Goldenrod, thou queenly flower, 

Canada's maple tree, 
Producing sweets that each one eats, 

Cannot compare with thee. 

The lotus flower for Egypt blooms, 

The pomegranate for Spain ; 
But all ye flowers from other lands ! 

Your blooming is in vain. 
Thou royal flower, fair Goldenrod ! 

To thee they all bow down, 
And place now on thy regal brow 

A yellow, golden crown. 



48 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



THE KAISERS WORK. 

Sat the Kaiser, sleeping, dreaming, 

On his crimson, blood-stained throne; 
Darkly brooding, yet rejoicing, 

At the "Kultiir" he had sown. 
In the distance was the booming 

Of the cannon's constant roar, 
As the loud artillery thundered 

O'er the land from shore to shore. 

Spreading thus deep desolation 

O 'er a fruitful, pleasant land, 
Once great armies are returning 

Now a maimed and bleeding band. 
"Who is there in all my kingdom 

Can repair these arms and legs? 
Who can mend these shattered members 

Which of manhood are the dregs?" 

Comes there now a necromancer, 

Unto whom the task is given 
To restore the parts now wanting 

To the soldier battle-riven. 
"Master," said he, bowing lowly, 

To God's chosen confidant, 
"I can your instructions follow, 

And remove each detriment." 

Then he signaled Fritz to enter 
On new feet, with martial tread ; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 49 

Stood he there the finished product, 

He who had been worse than dead. 
His sightless orbs were readjusted 

With fine springs, as was his arm ; 
Remodeled ears, with perfect hearing 

That would keep him safe from harm. 

Then upspoke the haughty Kaiser, 

"German 'Kultur' loud applaud; 
Through it you are a stronger man, 

So give thanks to 'Me and God'." 
"Curses on you!" cried the soldier, 

"Tho' you reach your fiendish goal, 
You can never half repay me 

For the loss of heart and soul." 

"You have ruined men by thousands, 

You have deluged lands with blood; 
Millions murdered by your ' Kultur ' — 

Can such actions then be good? 
Thus your boasted dual friendship 

Brings a ban upon your head; 
Your partnership with God is ended — 

Curses on you when you 're dead!" 



5o THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



THE VETERAN'S DREAM. 

As the old man sat in his easy-chair, 

Smoking his pipe of clay, 
The face of a loved one, young and fair, 
Appeared to him in the moving air 

As he blew the wreaths away. 

'Twas the face of a maiden, pure and bright, 

Wreathed in a heavenly smile, 
With hair as dark as the darkest night, 
With eyes that shone as the morning light, 

But her smile was sad the while. 

As this image caught the old man's eye 

He looked with a startled gaze, 
Then backward sank with a broken sigh — 
He knew that his dear one hovered nigh — 

And it filled him with amaze. 

The old man's thots went back apace 

To the times of long ago, 
And he conjured up the time and place 
When he gazed with rapture on that face, 

For the old man loved her so. 

Oh! swiftly have fled the passing years, 

But memories linger there; 
Thru buoyant hopes and saddening fears 
The face of a loved one lost appears — 

The smile of a maiden fair. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 51 

That heavenly picture comes again 

As a vision from above; 
The joy of that time shall ever remain, 
When wooing he wooed her not in vain, 

When he won that maiden's love. 

The angel of death went out to reap, 

His sickle was sharp and bright; 
Her lover was left alone to weep, 
The maiden sank in an endless sleep, 

And woke in the realms of light. 

All thru life like a beautiful dream, 

In the midst of pain and strife, 
A brilliant ray of hope would seem 
To come to him as a joyous beam, 

To cheer that old man's life. 

The old man sat in his great arm-chair, 

The smoke rings flitting away; 
His wrinkled brow is marked with care, 
But the image of his sweetheart there 

Remains forever and aye. 

The old man sits in his easy-chair 

A lifeless piece of clay; 
The smoke of his pipe flecks not the air, 
Nor dreams he now of a sweetheart fair — 

His spirit has flown away. 

His soul has gone to a mystic shore, 

Away from this world of care ; 
His sorrows and troubles all are o'er, 
He '11 part from that image never more, 

From that sainted maiden fair. 



52 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



THE SUNBEAM. 

A soldier stood with bended head 

Beside a grassy grave, 
And tears unbidden filled his eyes, 

Shed for the fallen brave. 
A soldier sleeps beneath the mound 

On which that hero stood, 
Who for the cause he loved the best 

Had shed his precious bjood. 

He laid a bunch of roses white 

Upon the resting-place 
Of him who died for principle, 

Then upward turned his face 
And said, "I may not quite perceive 

The Lord's eternal plan, 
But still the soldier of the South 

Remains my brother man. 

"What though he wore a suit of gray 

And I a dress of blue; 
What though on different sides we fought, 

Each to his feelings true? 
I censure not my brother — dead, 

But in this sacred hour, 
On this his final resting-place 

I lay a milk-white flower. 

" Pure emblem of a faith and love 
That fill each loyal heart; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 53 

A pledge that former bitterness 

Does from my soul depart. 
I pledge myself and comrades dear, 

By Him who rules above, 
That for the South we harbor not 

A thot but that of love." 

I saw this soldier drop a tear, 

And slowly walk away; 
And as he went a sunbeam bright 

Struck where the flower lay ; 
With loving light it kissed the rose, 

And by its gentle ray 
It sealed the bond of friendship true 

Between the Blue and Gray. 



OLD GLORY. 

Oh, proudly wave our Country's Flag! 

For where it floats there Freedom lives; 
Its graceful folds unfurl for all, 

And freedom from oppression gives. 
Long may it wave o'er land and sea, 

Till all the nations of the earth 
Shall greet it as their loyal friend, 

And praise the land that gave it birth. 

May its broad stripes bring happiness 
To lands beyond the rolling sea ; 

Its influence o'er the world be felt 
Till nations shall indeed be free. 



54 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Shine on, shine on, each radiant star, 
Let all the world behold your light; 

Make known to Hun and wild Bulgar 
You banish ignorance and night. 

From Philippino's torrid zone 

To bleak Siberia's frozen shore, 
May war's alarms become unknown 

And clash of arms be heard no more; 
May Truth and Righteousness prevail 

Where'er "Old Glory" is unfurled, 
No hands its sacred folds assail, 

Which offer friendship to the world. 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECT POEMS. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 57 



WHEN PA LED IN PRAYER. 

Pa was a member of the Church, 

A Christian, good and true, 
And of ten-times good people came 

My Pa to interview. 
They vowed he was a pious man, 

His heart was filled with grace, 
And tho' reserved, 'twas hard to find 

A man to fill Pa's place. 

The circuit preacher always said, 

When on his weekly round, 
A pleasant, cozy Christian home 

At our abode he found. 
It always tickled us young chaps 

To find the preacher there, 
And hear him say, "Amen, amen!" 

If my Pa led in prayer. 

But my Pa was a bashful man, 

Nor had he much to say, 
And when protracted meetings came, 

'Twas hard for Pa to pray. 
Quite frequently the preacher urged 

On Pa to have more zeal; 
Said he, "The more you work and pray, 

The happier you feel." 

Well, one day Pa and I went out 
To rake the new-mown hay; 



58 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

I never shall forget the fun 
I had with Pa that day. 

With fork in hand he tossed the grass, 
The new-mown hay to make, 

While I, who knew the meadow well, 
Came after with the rake. 

And while we worked my pious Pa 

Unto his son did say : 
"My boy, a lesson you may learn 

By raking new-mown hay. ' ' 
Then he reviewed that adage old, 

"The grass that in the morn 
Springs up and lives is soon cut down 

And of its beauty shorn." 

So Pa and I kept working hard, 

With little food or drink, 
Till maybe one or two o'clock, 

And I began to think 
'Twas very late for dinner-time, 

When, much to Pa's dismay, 
Some yaller- jackets claimed a right 

In that sweet-scented hay. 

Pa dropped his fork quite suddenly, 

And yelled and tore like mad, 
While I, too much afraid to speak, 

Stood there and watched my dad; 
Well, first my Pa pulled off his vest 

And threw his pants away — 
None ever prayed with greater zeal 

Than my Pa did that day. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 59 

With one ear-splitting, awful yell, 

He started on the run, 
While I took refuge in the hay, 

And laughed and laughed for fun, 
To see the time my Pa could make, 

And hear him shout and — well — 
The words that my Pa used that day 

I never dared to tell. 

If Pa had ever heard me say 

The words he used that day 
My shoulders would have been too sore 

To rake the new-mown hay. 
But then it makes much difference 

If it be man or boy ; 
The older ones are punished not 

For language they employ. 

Pa headed for the summer-house, 

And prayed with lively zest 
That he might never find again 

A yaller-jacket's nest. 
When Pa drew near our Christian home, 

The minister was there, 
He had the pleasure once to hear 

How Pa could lead in prayer. 

The parson at that time declared 

If Pa would show such zeal 
During protracted service as 

When stung from head to heel, 
He'd distance others in the work 

Old Satan's imps to down; 



60 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

And when the race of life was run, 
He'd wear a starry crown. 

But I don't think that my Pa's prayers, 

Ascending on that day, 
Were such petitions as would help 

To bear men's sins away; 
His words were something strange to me- 

So innocent and young — 
I never heard such prayers arise 

From any human tongue. 

But my Pa afterwards declared, 

And I would fain believe, 
There was no other way on earth 

His feelings to relieve. 
At all events, don't blame my Pa — 

A Christian man and true; 
You would have prayed as heartily 

Had this befallen you. 

My Pa has long since found that rest 

To weary mortals given; 
While I take comfort in the thought, 

No stingers enter heaven. 
But while I live on this old earth, 

I shall recall the day 
When Pa found yaller- jackets in 

The lovely new-mown hay. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 61 



A PRESENTATION. 

I said to Elsie, whom I loved: 

"What would you have me do 
To show my faithfulness of heart, 

To test my love for you ? 
Shall I, as in the days of old, 

With sword and buckler fight, 
And by my prowess demonstrate 

I am no carpet knight? 

"Shall I, to find the Northern Pole, 

The Arctic seas explore, 
Or stand with armies militant 

Where surging battles roar? 
Shall I on Afric's burning sands 

Seek gems of wealth untold, 
Or on Alaska's frozen streams 

Discover hidden gold? 

"Dear Elsie, mention but the task 

That you would set for me. 
For you I 'd scale the mountains high, 

Or sail the raging sea. 
To know that I had won your love, 

Had captured heart so coy, 
Would be sufficient recompense 

To fill my soul with joy." 

Said Elsie to my pleading words, 
While mischief filled her eye : 



62 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

"I care for no such sacrifice, 
Nor fix the price so high. 

The task I set you may perform, 
Nor quail at strong rebuff : 

Go ask my father, sir," she said; 
"That task will be enough." 

I straightway to her father went 

To ask for Elsie's hand, 
And then with much expectancy 

Awaited his command. 
He quick refused her hand to me 

(This part I should delete), 
But, not to disappoint me quite, 

He tendered me his feet. 

I thanked him for the double gift 

As I passed thru the door; 
Yet now I mourn in solitude, 

For I call there no more. 
I *d sooner have one kindly hand 

Extended mine to meet, 
Than be presented with the gift 

Of any man's two feet. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 63 



TEDDY INTERNED. 

What peace shall spread thruout the land, 

And joy beam from each face, 
When honest, loyal men demand 

The freedom of each race; 
When rich and poor, and black and white, 

This fact have well discerned, 
All shall be ruled by Truth and Right, 

When Teddy is interned. 

Why should a man pass thru the land, 

And roar, and yell, and rant, 
And scatter with no meager hand 

His base, pretended cant? 
Why should the people know the facts, 

Or with them be concerned? 
'Tis plain that for his wicked acts 

Poor Ted should be interned. 

Why should this fearless man have dared 

Such falsehoods to aver, 
And claim that we are unprepared 

To carry on the war? 
" 'Tis false! 'tis false!" so Baker cried, 

While anger's passion burned; 
"This man, with speech and pen, has lied!' 

So Ted should be interned. 

Good-bye, poor Ted, your doom is sealed; 
Our grief knows no surcease; 



64 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Your woeful fate, too soon revealed, 
From pain brings no release. 

Admonished not to speak the truth, 
That warning you have spurned, 

So now, come woe, come grief, forsooth ! 
Poor Teddy, you 're interned. 



VATCH OUID! 

Ach! Wilhelm Kaiser, Beelzebub, 

I vant to schbeak mit you ; 
I vant to dolt you vat I dinks 

Dot you had bedder do : 
Dake all your butchers oud of France, 

Pefore dey 're pud to rouid ; 
For dot Pershing man vill got you, 

Uff you don'd vatch ouid. 

You dinks you vas as gread as Gott, 

Und vant to rule der earth ; 
Soon you vill get some lesson yet 

Vitch turns to dears dot mirth. 
So somedime puddy kivick at vonce 

Durn all your men abouid; 
For dot Pershing man vill got you, 

Uff you don'd vatch ouid. 

You dinks dot all dose Scherman mans, 

Und all dem vomens doo, 
Found in dose great United Sdates, 

Vill all schdand up for you? 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 65 

Dot's vare you make a big misdake, 

Got dot f acd up your schnouid ; 
For dot Pershing man vill got you, 

Uff you don'd vatch ouid. 

Dey dolt me dot you wrode a book, 

Calt " Wilhelm in der Kreeg," 
In vitch you give a full accound 

Uff speeches dot you sbeak. 
Schoost add anoder speech to dot 

Und say, dere is no douid 
Dod Pershing man vill got you, 

Uff you don 'd vatch ouid. 

By schim-min-ny ! you bedder got; 

Dose Yankees go bell-mell — 
Dose schaps vos coming after you, 

Und ven dey got you — veil ! 
You bedder got avay right kivick, 

Vile going 's goot, olt skouid ; 
For dot Pershing man vill got you, 

Uff you don'd vatch ouid. 



66 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



DEWEY AN' THE GERMAN. 

Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, hev yew, 

Who made a winnin' fight 
Agin the combined Spanish fleet, 

At airly mornin' light? 
Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, hev yew, 

Who stole inter the bay, 
An' slaughtered ov the Spaniards 

In a most inspirin' way? 

Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, hev yew, 

Who whipped the gosh-darn lot, 
Sent the Spaniards to the bottom, 

To deteriorate an' rot? 
Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, hev yew, 

Who sank the Spanish fleet, 
An' was ready when the time came 

Some other one to meet? 

Wal, this same feller, Dewey, saw 

A German t'other day, 
Who wished to carry bread-stuffs to 

The Spaniards in the bay; 
Old Dewey sed he should not go, 

The German sed he would; 
But Dewey smiled an' blandly sed 

He didn't think he could. 

The German sed he'd use his guns 
To git the bread-stuffs in; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 67 

"Tew kin play at that air game," 

Sed Dewey, with a grin. 
The German sed: "Uff dot pread-stoffs 

Do harbor ich should pring, 
Und Admiral Dewey goes for mich, 

He wouldn't Dewey ding." 

The German took his war-ships off, 

To land he didn't try; 
For Dewey sed, "He'd better not," 

An' winked his other eye. 
An' so this trifnin' trouble came 

Unto a timely end; 
But Dewey, he was gol-darn quick 

Our honor to defend. 

He wanted no blamed foolishness 

Where he had cause to be; 
For if there was, he'd send 'em tew 

The bottom ov the sea. 
Now, all you Germans warnin' take, 

Don't act the foolish clam, 
An' don't be mixin' in a row 

Agin ol' Uncle Sam. 



68 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



DON'T KICK. 

I hev no kick comin', hev you? 
I git many a bump, 'tis true; 
But most o' my so-called troubles 
Is no more nor less than bubbles 
Which bust an' disappear in air, 
An' don't show up no more nowhere; 
So I take a fresh holt an' say : 
"01' feller, keep pullin' away." 

When things don't tote along jist right, 
I squar my shoulder up an' fight; 
I don't throw up the sponge, not I, 
An' sit down an' sniffle an' cry; 
No sir-ee, I don't act that way; 
Here is my motto: "Work an' Pray." 
So it's no kind o' use, you see, 
To talk about your kickin' to me. 

Sometimes troubles is hard to bear; 
I don't mean to say I don't care, 
'Cause I do. It hurts me to find 
Some people is mean an' unkind; 
But I don't go to whine an' kick, 
For I think the chap is a brick 
Who smiles an' has nothin' to say 
When folks is cussin' him all day. 

I don't jist see why human natur' — 
Tho' I may larn the fac' later — 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 69 

Should be so chuck full o' abuse 
An' meanness an' sich. It 's no use 
To be a brain-stormer an' fuss 
An' swar an' tear around an' cuss; 
'Cause I know you don't gain nuthin' 
By bein' ornery an' cussin. 

When things is goin' wrong with you, 
Keep movin' right along an' do 
The very best you can; don't quit, 
An' hang yer head an' hev a fit 
O' the blues, or suthin' as bad, 
But keep a stiff upper lip an' be glad 
That things are no worse nor they are; 
Hev yer nerve, brace up, an' git thar. 

I hev no kick comin', but you 
May hev suthin' o' that to do; 
If you hev, git yer work in quick, 
Take out yer spite in one big kick; 
But jist listen to me when I say: 
"Here is my motto, 'Work an' Pray'." 
So it's no kind o' use, you see, 
To talk about your kickin' to me. 



7o THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



OWER THE OCEAN. 

My Jamie 's gane ower the ocean, 

My Jamie has gane tae the war ; 
Wi' his kilt an' his bright, flowin' tartan, 

The bluid-thirsty Boches to scaur. 
Ye ken, if they see the lad comin', 

The skirl o' the pipes they maun hear, 
Wi* the drummer-lad thumpin' an' drummin' ; 

'Twill fill a' the Germans wi' fear. 

My Jamie 's gane ower the ocean, 
|H Tae gie the brave Allies his help ; 
Tae fecht for the Ian' o' his loved ane, 

The Germans tae wallop an' skelp; 
Tae free us frae war an' oppression, 

Frae evil, an' rapine, an' bluid; 
Frae the Kaiser's unholy transgression, — 

An' gie us a warl' brotherhood. 

My Jamie's gane ower the ocean, 

Tae fecht on the warl's battle-field; 
But a guid wife's ne'er-failing devotion 

Shall act as a life-saving shield. 
Tho' my hairt may be broken, in silence 

I '11 bear a' the grief an' the pain, 
For I hae the guid manners an' sense 

Tae think he'll come tae me again. 

P ■ 
My Jamie 's gane ower the ocean, 

An' I am left here a' my lane; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 71 

But somehow I hae a fixed notion 

His fechtin' will not be in vain. 
Sae I 'llna be sad nor doonhairted, 

But haud up my heid wi' the rest ; 
If Jamie an' I maun be pairted, 

I '11 say that the Maister kens best. 



WELL! 

When will this awful carnage cease 

That on the earth befell? 
When will the people find release 

From this Germanic — well? 

Our splendid, loyal, fighting boys 

Will soon the clouds dispel; 
And Wilhelm with his soldier toys 

May go straight down to — well, 

I 'm satisfied, when comes the end, 

The tale that we shall tell 
All loyal people shall commend, 

The rest may go to — well, 

Rough is the road and dark the way, 

But Truth will ring the knell 
Of Error, and a brighter day 

Shall lift the gloom of — well, 

When that time comes, earth shall rejoice, 

Be gone the tyrant's spell; 
The people shout with joyous voice, 

"God doeth all things well!" 



72 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



BILL AND BEELZEBUB. 

Auld Beelzebub an' Kaiser Bill 
Ae' day sat doon upo' a hill 
Tae ha' o' gossiping their fill — 

A schemin' pair, 
Whaur neither deil wad suffer ill, 

Or hae a care. 

An' so they clacked o' this an' that, 
Swapping guid stories as they sat. 
Bill told aboot his wide-warl' spat — 

O' it he boasted ; 
Auld Cloots named persons, lean an' fat, 

That he had roasted. 

The Kaiser boasted he had killed 
Enough poor women tae hae filled 
The fiery lake, if Satan willed 

Tae hae them there; 
An ' o' the bluid he, useless, spilled, 

An' didna care. 

He fiendishly had sent oot word, 
Tae put a' childer' tae the sword. 
He was the sairvin' o' the Lord — 

A mighty man; 
Sae Bill an' God were in accord 

Tae aid his plan. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 73 

He sent oot orders here an' there, 
Tae wound an' kill, an' not tae spare — 
His fiendish acts were a' laid bare 

Tae Beelzebub, 
Which made auld Satan cringe an ' stare 

Like hell's ain cub. 

Auld Nick thocht lang, an' then he said: 
"Strang drink can shaw unnumbered dead, 
An' wine an' beer have thoosan's led 

Tae my domeenion; 
But Kaiser Bill ranks far ahead 

In my opeenion. 

"For takin' life an' sheddin' bluid, 
He well can claim frae me knighthood; 
I hae sma' thocht for what is guid, 

But he has nane; 
I 'd no' trade names, in selfish mood, 

His for my ain." 

In short, auld Satan wouldna stay 
Tae gi' the Kaiser time to say 
Hoo he had held his devilish sway 

On Ian' an' sea; 
But gruntled as he moved away: 

"Let foumarts be." 



Note. — Foumart, a "skunk." 



74 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



JIM SLICK. 

There once was a feller whose name was Jim Slick, 
Who spent all his moments in makin' a kick; 
Or Jim was as slick as his surname implied, 
He was a born kicker an ' kicked when he died. 
He never would work, but to kickin' he went, 
An' he kicked, an' he kicked till he hadn't a cent. 
He swore that conditions were never half right, 
An' so he kep' kickin' from mornin' till night. 

When the sun was a-shinin' thruout the blue sky, 
01' Jim would bewail with a cuss an' a sigh; 
It mattered but little what weather we got, 
Fer Jim it was either too cold or too hot ; 
An' when it was cloudy an' sprinkled an' rained, 
From sowin' an' reapin' 01' Jim was detained; 
It was either too dry or too wet for 01' Jim, 
Fer no kind o' weather was suited to him. 

When work was aplenty an' wages were high, 
01' Jim alius kicked an' would alius deny 
That for the poor people 'twas ever the best 
To have so much work when they needed to rest. 
When labor was scarce an' no work to be had, 
01' Jim alius seemed to be cheerful an' glad ; 
He heaped on the wealthy all kinds o' abuse, 
An' sed for the times there was nary excuse. 

To talk on religion 01' Jim would begin, 

An' then you would think 'twas a shame an' a sin 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 75 

The way all the preachers forsook the good cause 
An' broke all the precepts in God's given laws. 
When politics were by this kicker discussed, 
The way he kept kickin' would make you distrust 
That every good man was a lastin' disgrace, 
An' Jim was the one to select for the place. 

He discussed all the topics known under the sun, 
If by the least chance a debate was begun; 
He alius was 'round with a kick an' a cuss, 
Neglectin' his work to get mixed in the fuss. 
The time at last came when he gave up the ghost, 
An' this was the trouble that troubled him most — 
In heaven he longed to reside when he died, 
So in his last sickness he kicked an' he cried: 

"I am greatly afraid that I scarcely shall dare 
To do any kickin' if I should go there ; 
An' as to the place which lies over the way, 
I know I shall kick if I go there to stay." 
So he died with his foot lifted high in the air 
All ready to kick, for he claimed it unfair, — 
'Twould be, in his judgment, a lasting disgrace 
To keep him from kickin' in any sich place. 

I hev an idee, though you can't alius tell, 
01' Jim was too slick to be kickin' in — well; 
But I'll lay a wager o' twenty to seven, 
You never will find him kickin' in heaven. 
Where Jim Slick has gone I 'm unable to say, 
But, in heaven or hell, he is kickin' away; 
When Gabriel blows, at the sound of his horn, 
01 ' Jim will rise kickin' as when he was born. 



76 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

MORAIv. 

This tale needs a moral to make it complete, 
An' 'tis this: Don't kick everything that you meet; 
Don't follow the maxim laid down by Jim Slick, 
An' spend all your moments in makin' a kick. 



DON'T CROWD. 

Don't alius be a schemin' 'round, 

Nor violate the right, 
A study in' an' contrivin', thru 

The endless day an' night, 
To obtain a mean advantage o' 

The helpless and distressed, 
An' to grasp the meager pittance 

With which the poor are blessed. 

You may keep a crowdin' for'ard, 

An' boostin' all you can; 
But desist from shovin' sidewise 

Agin the other man, 
Rememberin', as you alius should, 

This adage, old an' true, 
That other fellers on the earth 

Hev rights as well as you. 

You may be rich an' popular, 
With thousands at command; 

But if you 're not kind-hearted, and 
Withhold the givin' hand, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 77 

Tho' you speak with tongue o' angels, 

Your language none surpass, 
You are like the tinklin' cymbal 

Or as the soundin' brass. 

If you 're seated in the temple 

O' learnin' an' o' fame, 
Don't attempt to crowd the climbers, 

Who try to reach the same; 
Do not build up mighty barriers 

Their upward course to stop ; 
Do not forget the statement true, 

"There's room upon the top." 

Don't be pushin' an' a-crowdin' 

In a kind o' spiteful way, 
For, although you're up at present, 

You may fall some futur' day. 
This world is blamed onsartin' 

From star tin' to the end, 
An' whether rich or whether poor, 

You alius need a friend. 

If you should lend a helpin' hand 

To those who need your aid, 
Accordin' to the Word, you '11 be 

A hundred fold repaid. 
So don't be selfish in your deeds; 

Keep boostin' all you can, 
But don't be try in' in the race 

To crowd the other man. 



78 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



SIGNS OF SPRING. 

An old, gray-whiskered gentleman 

Sat at his desk one day; 
His thoughts in divers channels ran, 

Along life's varied way. 
He pondered o'er the checkered past, 

He smiled at grief and care ; 
And troubles which his sky o'ercast 

To him were light as air. 

For many a long and changing year 

He ran the "Bugle Call," 
Viewing thru winters cold and drear 

His business rise and fall. 
He claimed the wolf of fabled fame, 

That oft stood at the door, 
Would soon depart as springtime came, 

And haunt the house no more. 

And so the years had passed away, 

Like visions of the night, 
Which vanish with the dawning day, 

As dusk before the light. 
And now the old man sleeps and dreams 

Of other lands than ours; 
He views a place which to him seems 

To bloom with vernal flowers. 

The blooming orchards and the trees, 
Where robin red-breasts sing, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 79 

The perfumes wafted by the breeze, 

Denote the coming spring. 
As on he dreams, his mind is filled 

With scenes surpassing fair; 
But, tho' with verdant beauty thrilled, 

A doubt still lingers there. 

But soon soft strains he faintly hears, 

And listening to the sound, 
His heart the low, soft music cheers, 

While fairies hover 'round. 
Each carries 'neath its silvery wing, 

As though to hide from view, 
"Sweet poems" on the opening spring, 

Tied up with ribbons blue. 

And now the old man, waking, gazed 

With smiles and mild surprise ; 
His head in listening poise is raised, 

Doubt in assurance dies. 
These "bundles" for a while he eyed, 

'Twixt joy and passing fear; 
Then, throwing up his hands, he cried : 

"My stars! the spring is here!" 



8o THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



RAB'S RETURN. 

Though I am auld an' near the en', 

An' dauner here my lane, 
I wuss that thae auld een o' mine 

Could see wee Rab again. 
He 's a' the bairn, among thae three, 

That's left on airth tae me; 
I wuss he wad come hame ance mair, 

Frae far across the sea. 

To-day, in wand'rin' roun' the hoose, 

I foun' a wee bit shoon 
That was puir Tarn's when, as a bairn 

He, greetin', toddled roon'. 
Thae wee sma' shoon are dear tae me, 

Sin' I am a' my lane; 
For Tarn, dear lad, has passed awa', 

Amang the mools has gane. 

An' as I turn there meets my een 

Puir Jamie's bat an' ba' ; 
I lo'e them weel, an' canna bear 

Tae pit thae toys awa'. 
Ah me ! it pains my auld gray heed, 

An' gars my een tae greet, 
That Tarn an' Jamie baith are deed 

An' Rab nae mair I '11 meet. 

Then some strange body steeked the door, 
A lad wi' beard fu' braw; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 81 

An' when I looked, it seemed tae me 

My ain wee Rab I saw ; 
An' then my hairt gaed wi' a boun' 

To him across the sea, 
An', claspit in his airms, I kenned, 

He had come hame tae me. 

I 'm placed afore a weel-built fire, 

Wi' wee Rab standin' near; 
He hauds my puir auld tremblin' han' 

An' ca's me "mither dear"; 
An' sae, though I am grawin' auld, 

I 'm sittin' here thae nicht, 
An' when I look at Rab, the warl' 

Becomes a wee bit bricht. 

Wee Rab is a' the bairn that's left; 

It pains my hairt fu' sair; 
But sune I '11 meet wi' a' my frien's, 

Sae I shall greet nae mair. 
My days are drawin' to a close, 

Soon I '11 be ca'ed aboon ; 
An' wee Rab gently close my een, 

When I shall cuddle doon. 



82 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



MAKIN' A WINNIN'. 

You can never make a winnin' 

By saunterin' around, 
And you cannot leap to riches 

In one tremendous bound; 
You hev got to keep a-workin' 

An' plannin' mighty fine, 
If you wish to be successful 

In any chosen line. 

You should never think o' findin' 

Gold nuggets in the street, 
Nor expect to pick up dollars 

Rollin' underneath yer feet. 
No one will push you for 'ard 

To riches, fame, or place; 
Sich things don't often happen 

In life's great runnin' race. 

Jist keep workin' an' a-doin', 

Fix yer ambition high, 
An' grab the present chances in 

The twinklin' o' an eye. 
You hev got to keep a-climbin' 

Or fall beside the way; 
When you raise yer ladder higher, 

Drive a peg to make it stay. 

Cinch yer belt a little tighter, 
Then buckle in an' fight; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 83 

Be sure that all yer efforts are 

Upon the side o' right. 
When travelin' on life's journey, 

Erect yer standard high ; 
An' never change a muscle when 

Temptation hovers nigh. 

Keep yer eyes upon the target an' 

Yer hand upon the gun ; 
When the battle rages fiercest, 

Don't think to turn an' run. 
Keep a-pushin' an' a-climbin' 

With all yer might an' main; 
You are bound to win the battle 

By usin' brawn an' brain. 

Scatterin' smiles o' pleasantness 

Wherever grief is found ; 
Jist make a world o' misery 

With happiness abound; 
Strive to live contentedly, 

In usefulness an' health, 
Rememberin' you the steward are 

O' God's abbundin' wealth. 



84 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



DEWEY. 

'Twas a very Dewey mornin' 

In the Dewey month of May 
When Dewey with his battle-ships 

Sailed up Manila bay ; 
When the sun riz in its splendor 

On that Dewey horizon, 
Dewey's decks were cleared for action, 

To Dewey Spanish Don. 

When the Spanish saw that Dewey, 

With Dewey's boys in blue, 
Was in line of battle formin' 

To Dewey thing or two, 
They prepared themselves for fightin', 

But they didn't Dewey thing, 
For Dewey's guns on battlements 

Made Dewey bullets ring. 

So Dewey hurled the Spanish Dons 

Inter the Dewey wave, 
An' hundreds of their fightin' men 

Now fill a Dewey grave. 
They got a Dewey breakfast there 

That made their stomachs ache, 
Which taught them Admiral Dewey 

Was not a Dewey fake. 

Now, floatin' o'er the battlements, 
01' Glory may be seen, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 85 

Unfurlin' from a Spanish staff, 

Where other flag hed bin. 
So Dewey's flag was flaunted high, 

His men were in the bay, 
Because of Dewey's bjattle-ships 

That Dewey month of May. 

With Dewey in the harbor, boys, 

An' soldiers in the field, 
The Spanish honored Dewey when 

Their forces hed tew yield. 
'Twas tew Dewey for the Spaniards, 

The Philippines they quit; 
'Twas Dewey on that mornin' an' 

'Tis very Dewey yit. 

Then hurrah for Admiral Dewey ! 

We '11 hev a Dewey time; 
We will speak of Dewey's battle 

In very Dewey rhyme; 
We will sing of Admiral Dewey, 

By Dewey mornin' light, 
An' name our children Dewey, 

To remember Dewey's fight. 



86 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



THE MINSTREL'S LAY. 

The Minstrel's Lay, tho' known so well, 
This story now purports to tell; 
How never more on chickens fine, 
Or eggs or custards, we may dine. 
The Minstrel is a fine young hen, 
Who clucks and sings in chicken pen, 
Because each morning of each day 
An egg she has refused to lay. 
This was the style in former time, 
When sand was cheap and so was lime. 
Her mother, to her instincts true, 
Layed one each day and sometimes two; 
But now that such high rates prevail, 
No high-brow hen that sports a tail 
Would listen to such vain demand, 
As though fresh eggs were made by hand. 
This hen, all burdened down with care, 
Claimed laying eggs was her affair. 
If she set forth to lay an egg 
Each time her master one would beg, 
Her health would soon be broken down, 
And he the richest man in town. 
So this young hen, like human tyke, 
Straightway resolved to start a strike; 
And as her great egg-making plan 
Can not be run by beast or man, 
Confining her in coop or pen 
Will not make her a laying hen. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 87 

Like Scott, who wrote the Minstrel's Lay, 
She has the power to win the day. 
Still it would make an awful mess, 
If at the truth I may but guess. 
As eggs must out of chickens come, 
'Twould put the business on the bum ; 
And as young chicks come out of eggs, 
As sure as they have but two legs, 
You should put this fact in your crop, 
The poultry game would have to stop. 
So this young hen, with plumage gay, 
Has layed her last, is last to lay. 



BRIGHT AND FAIR. 

How bright and fair were boyhood days! 

Our minds with pleasure turn 
To rambling o'er the dells and braes 

And thru the flowing burn. 
Our thoughts turn backward, and it seems 

Those joys once more we feel ; 
We limp again, when wrapped in dreams — 

With stone-bruise on our heel. 

Yes, bright and fair those golden hours, 

Few clouds to intervene; 
Our sorrows, short sunshiny showers, 

With rainbow tints between ; 
Our boyhood days a pleasant song, 

We could not well forego; 
Our greatest grief, nor lasting long, 

Was when we "stubbed" a toe. 



88 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Yes, "bright and fair" tells well the tale 

Of happy days long gone; 
Yet each of us knows well the wail 

Which at the early dawn 
Came ringing from the old woodshed, 

As o'er his father's knee 
He was in wisdom's pathway led — 

Sweet by -gone memory. 

Yes, bright and fair those youthful days, 

No clouds their brightness blur; 
Thru all life's cares and varied ways, 

These joys our mem'ries stir. 
Those pleasant days! No care to rack, 

We sauntered off to school, 
Where on our unprotected back 

The master plied the "rule." 

Yes, bright and fair ! How short the time 

Since we were restive boys! 
And how we longed, with faith sublime, 

To share in manhood's joys! 
Compelled man's burdens once to bear, 

Our pains and griefs begun, 
Then disappeared each boyhood care, 

As mists before the sun. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 89 



A NEW HAME. 

I 'm far awa' frae frien's an' hame, 

My hairt is sad an' sair; 
I'm aften hamesick for them a', 

Sae I'll go back ance mair. 
I ken it would be strange tae me, 

Changed since I cam awa'; 
Yet when I think o' thae auld times, 

The bitter tears doonfa'. 

My faither an' my mither gane 

To dwall wi' saunts aboon; 
My brithers an' my sisters, too, 

Wide scaittered far aroon'. 
To roam aboot the dear auld place, 

Whence a' my fowk hae gane, 
An' see each weel-remembered spot, 

Would fill my hairt wi' pain. 

I view the auld hoose an' I ken, 

The places whaur we played; 
I hear the streamlet murmurin' by, 

Doon which we aften strayed. 
I min' me o' the go wans sweet, 

The flowers by the stream, — 
Thae childish fancies a' come back 

Tae me as in a dream. 

The ringin' o' the auld kirk bell 
Strikes on my list'nin' ear — 



90 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

E'en no' I tak' her by the han', 
My kind auld mither, dear; 

I walk wi' her to God's ain hoose, 
An' as we steek the door 

I hear the tune "Auld Hundred" sang, 
As aft I heard before. 

I hear the stern auld meenister, 

An' aye he makes me feel 
That, tho' a chiel', I 'm born in sin, 

A sairvan' o' the deil. 
Wi' his damnation an' his hell, 

I'mfrightittilllgreet; 
If my election is nae sure, 

No frien's aboon I'll meet. 

I watch my f aither when he stairts 

To go the pairish 'roun' ; 
An' when he gies his stern comman's, 

I 'm fearfu' at the soun' ; 
But when he takes me in his airms 

An' hauds me to his breast, 
My troubles cease, an' then I fin' 

In him a trustfu' rest. 

My brither Jock, sae buird an' braw, 

I see him noo as weel 
As in my lang syne childish days ; 

An' aften-times I feel 
I 'd gie my fondest, dearest hopes 

O' fame, or gear, or Ian', 
If I might hae fun-lovin' Jock 

To grip me by the han'. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 91 

An' then dear brither Will I see, 

Sae f u' o' quiet fun ! 
Hoo aften I was skelpit, sair, 

For mischief he had done. 
An' yet thae dim auld een o' mine 

Wad kindle wi' delight 
If brither Will were by my side 

To cheer my hairt to-night 

Noo, standin' 'roun' the ingle wide 

Four sisters come tae min' ; 
I hear their laughter as it rang 

In days o' auld lang syne. 
Oh, merry, happy, blithesome days, 

Devoid o' cark an' care! 
We spent them a' in mirth an' fun, 

That we shall hae nae mair. 

For I am far frae frien's an' hame, 

An' a' fowk dear to me; 
Some dwall aboon an' some are gane 

Tae lan's across ths sea. 
But He who hauds us in His han' 

Will lead us to Himsel', 
An' guide each feeble, errin' chiel' 

In a new hame to dwell. 



92 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



BASEBALL EXCUSES. 

What will become of you and me, 

What loss will we sustain, 
When all our dear kinfolk depart 

To come not back again? 
What awful trouble racks our minds, 

What restless nights are spent, 
When we have no material left 

Baseball lies to invent! 

The greatest of all sorrows which 

Can come to man or boy- 
Is when he cannot find excuse 

A ball game to enjoy; 
When he tries to tell a "whopper" 

With malevolent intent, 
Knowing well his hurried footsteps 

To the baseball game are bent. 

His shifting glance roams everywhere 

Nor meets your steadfast eye, 
While he hunts for raw material 

To compose a dogoned lie; 
He knows full well, and you know, too, 

His story can't be true, 
But when the Nation's game is played, 

Pray what can fellows do? 

One buys a team and needs must go 
To put them to the test; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 93 

The man of God, with solemn mien, 

Must lay the dead to rest; 
The business man must hasten to 

Close up a bargain rare; 
But when you saunter to the grounds, 

You'll find each fellow there. 

And then the better half of man, 

Constructed from a rib, 
With no blushing hesitation, 

Will tell a corking fib : 
"A dear old friend of other days, 

A college chum of mine, 
Will stop to chat a while with me, 

As she goes down the line. 

" I must be there to meet with her, 

Bestow a welcome bright; 
1 11 see you later in the day — 

I'm looking such a fright!" 
If you expect to meet her, don't 

Be restless or afraid; 
You will find her on the bleachers, 

Most attractively arrayed. 

The doctor has a patient, and 

The lawyer has a case; 
But all of them will hasten to 

The same old try sting-place. 
You will see them on the benches, 

A-shouting themselves hoarse 
When someone knocks the ball afield 

With more than common force. 



94 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

But when the game is played, why then 

We wish to run and hide, 
Ashamed to face the folk at home, 

Who know that we have lied. 
'Tis the same the country over till 

The righteous are dismayed 
At the lies which are invented when 

The Nation's game is played. 



MOTHER'S COOKING. 

They tell of dishes rich and rare 
That many cooks did well prepare 

And to the wealthy fed ; 
But tell me, if you think you can, 
What better for the hungry man 

Than mother's home-made bread? 

They talk of dishes all the day, 
Prepared in hotels la frangais. 

Of which good judges boast; 
Of tender lamb and nice green peas — 
But nothing can the stomach please 

Like mother's lovely roast. 

They talk of cakes of first-class rate, 
The healthy appetite which sate, 

That fancy bakers bake, 
So nicely cooked and made with care; 
But none of them can well compare 

With mother's nice pound cake. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 95 

They talk of well-made oyster stews 
And highly-flavored French ragouts, 

For which the gourmand sighs; 
But naught to me tastes half so good, 
Of all new kinds of stylish food, 

As mother's "punkin" pies. 

They talk of currants, jell and jam, 
Of potted beef, and veal and ham, 

Setting mouths a-flutter; 
But there's no sauce of which they tell 
That suits my taste one-half so well 

As mother's apple butter. 



ST. PETER AND THE BROKER. 

A wealthy old broker, who met the sad fate 
Allotted to mortals, started up to the gate, 
And, reaching the portal, St. Peter espied, 
With good angel Gabriel close to his side. 
"What is it?" said Peter; "for surely you know 
No strangers in here are permitted to go, 
Unless they are able their acts to explain, 
And show that they squandered not riches in vain. 

"If they cannot prove that they always did good, 
It is one of the maxims quite well understood, 
They never can walk on the bright golden street 
With saints and with angels unless they are mete 
To dwell with the ransomed, to share in the rest 
Vouchsafed to the ones the Redeemer has blessed, 
To wear a white robe, and with harp in their hand 
Extol the great joys of this heavenly land." 



96 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

"'Tis true," said the applicant, pale and afraid, 
"That while on the earth filthy lucre I made; 
But still I was kind to the weak and the poor, 
Nor, sorrowing, turned them away from the door. 
I was kind to the widow in need and distress, 
I labored the orphan to succor and bless; 
So, dear old St. Peter, your blessing bestow, 
And permit me within the bright city to go." 

Said Peter: "My friend, in your plausible way, 
You make it as plain as the brightness of day, 
That you are an heir to this haven so bright, 
And that you should dwell in the city of light. 
I am sorry, dear sir, with the reasons you give, 
To refuse you the chance in this city to live; 
Some kind, friendly deeds I shall ask you to name 
Before you have fully established your claim. ' ' 

"Well, Peter," the broker, with shrewdness, replied, 
"A boy badly frozen would surely have died, 
His poor little life was exhausted and spent 
When I opened my pocket and gave him a cent; 
And then a poor woman, with poverty pressed, 
By the gift of two nickels was aided and blessed; 
And then, my dear sir, as I mentioned before, 
I was kind to the beggar who begged at the door." 

Then Peter commanded the broker to wait 
Before he could enter the pearly-white gate; 
And, turning to Gabriel, he calmly inquired 
If the record was true and all they desired. 
Then Gabriel answered: "By the record I made, 
His story is truthful ; and yet I 'm afraid 
This broker on earth scanty gifts did bestow, 
So give him his money and send him below." 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 97 



THE PARIN' BEE. 

The times air not the same, my lad, 

I ' ve often told yew so ; 
They laff naow at the fun we hed 

Some fifty years ago. 
An' yet the ol'-time "parin' bee," 

It beats 'em all, I vaow ; 
Sich pleasant times yew never see — 

I wish we hed 'em naow. 

The black eyes an' the blue, my lad, 

A-wunkin' sly at yew, 
Would leave the fellers lookin' sad, 

Not knowin' what to dew; 
But every boy would strive to bring 

The girl he liked the best 
To sit by him an' core an' string 

An' pass a kindly jest. 

We pared an' cored an' strung, my boy, 

An' hed much fun an' glee; 
While some their time would all employ 

In jolly lark an' spree. 
Each bashful boy an' modest maid 

Heard praises bandied free; 
An' in those days I'm sure it paid 

To hev a parin' bee. 

When all the work was done, my lad, 

The last string on the pole, 
In those ol' times it was the fad 

To bring in currant roll, 



98 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

An' bun, an' meat, an' pie, an' cakes, 
An' drink called "honey dew," 

Which, if yew tuk tew much, law sakes ! 
It made a fule o' yew. 

An' so we ate an' drank, my boy, 

In pleasant days o' yore, 
Filled up with cake an' pie an' joy 

Till we could hold no more. 
At last this eatin'-time was past, 

The tables pushed aside, 
While many feet were fly in' fast — 

The fiddler's bow was plied. 

An' then those ol'-time plays, my boy — 

Tew kiss a lovely girl! 
It would yer bashfulness destroy 

An' set yer brain a-whirl. 
Oh! I hev wished a thousan' times, 

But wishin' is in vain, 
This fun which I describe in rhymes 

Could be enjoyed again. 

An' thus we played an' danced, my boy, 

Into the midnight hour; 
Our hearts were filled with purest joy, 

Mirth held us in its power. 
At length the time would roll around 

When we must all depart, 
But tew some pretty girl 'twas found 

Some feller lost his heart. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 99 

Naow when the "bee" broke up, my lad, 

The "pairin' " jist began; 
Some lovely girl each feller hed, 

Each girl her best young man, 
An' thus paired off we jogged along, 

A smilin', happy band, 
Singin' through life a pleasant song, 

Travelin' hand in hand. 

When I recall those days, my boy, 

It thrills me thru an' thru, 
An' thus I think of ol'-time joy 

An' tell it naow to yew. 
I loved the dear ol' "parin' bee," 

It warmed my heart, I vaow. 
Those were delightful days to me — 

I wish we hed 'em naow ! 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL, AND DIDACTIC POEMS. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 103 



BE JUST. 

No matter what your business is, 

Or what you find to do, 
Be careful that you speak the truth, 

And let your words be few; 
Let your deeds be deeds of kindness, 

On others do not frown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 

If called to speak of other men, 

Reply with gentle grace ; 
Remember that this world is large, 

And all may find a place. 
For truthfulness and kindly deeds 

Resolve to gain renown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 

When people do not treat you well 

And strive your name to blight, 
Be not cast down, remember this: 

"Truth always seeks the light." 
Repay their evil deeds with good, 

Nor meet them with a frown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 

Do unto others as you would 
To you have others do; 



io 4 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Forget ye not that others claim 
Some rights as well as you. 

Let love and truth and honesty 
Your every effort crown — 

You cannot build your business up 
By tearing others down 

From entertaining evil thoughts 

No good is ever gained; 
One unjust word with vile intent 

A loyal heart has pained. 
Put then a bridle on your tongue, 

Wear silence as a crown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down 

Strive always to be just and fair 

In all your deeds in life ; 
Beware of mean, back-biting tongues 

That breed discord and strife. 
A smile bestowed on friend or foe 

Is better than a frown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down 

Thus will you lead a righteous life, 

And at the journey's end 
Your portion shall be joy and peace, 

And God will be your friend. 
The motto placed upon your tomb 

Will be a golden crown — 
"He never built his business up 

By tearing others down." 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 105 



RESURGAM. 

We keep slight record of the change 

That comes to us as years go past; 
And though we strive to rearrange 

The life upon the breakers cast, 
Full well we know, plan as we may, 

Our efforts bring but meager gain; 
For, though we fight to win the day, 

The harvest is but grief and pain. 

How then shall we the profit reap 

Of our probation here on earth? 
Fight on till comes the endless sleep, 

And death concludes our tears and mirth. 
With faith and hope and love proceed, 

Though all our efforts seem in vain, 
So on our tomb the world may read: 

"Resurgam. I shall rise again." 



GRIEFS AND JOYS. 

In our own hearts we treasure 

The secrets of a life; 
Upheaped may be the measure, 

With pain and trouble rife. 
Each heart has its own sorrow, 

Each soul its secret pain — 
Why should we troubles borrow, 

Or live them o'er again? 



106 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

We gain naught by repining, 

We are the architects, 
Each day our soul 's refining, 

As each by will elects, 
Then say good-bye to sadness, 

Wear an eternal smile; 
For it is worse than madness 

Your fortune to revile. 

Our troubles are but fleeting, 

Our keenest pain is brief ; 
Our hearts, with sorrow bleeding, 

Will shortly find relief. 
Sweet hope our lives adorning, 

Good-bye to sighs and fears ; 
The dawning of the morning 

Will drive away our tears. 

How vain with constant weeping 

The moments to beguile! 
Though grief and sorrow reaping, 

Bestow a hopeful smile. 
Our so-called griefs and troubles, 

Our tears and constant care, 
Fly like the floating bubbles 

That burst upon the air. 

Say good-bye to yesterday, 

Begin life o'er again; 
Banish past mistakes away, 

Regrets are all in vain. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 107 

A day of peace is dawning 

To cheer the coming hours ; 
Dame Fortune now is fawning — 

Enjoy her magic bowers. 

Strive hard to win the battle, 

The triumph is for you; 
In life's turmoil and rattle 

Fight like a soldier true. 
So when your days are ended, 

And all life's work is done, 
A voice in music blended 

Will sing: "The crown is won." 

BITTER-SWEET. 

A gnarled, ill-shapen apple tree 

Stood in the meadow -field; 
Its fru it was not the choicest kind, 

And scanty was the yield; 
But it always bloomed in springtime, 

With blossoms sweet and rare, 
And lent increasing fragrance to 

The flower-scented air. 

It flourished in the upland field, 

Untrimmed and all alone; 
And forever through its branches 

The sobbing wind would moan, 
And strew its lovely fragrant flow'rs 

In rich profusion 'round, 
While partly-ripened apples fell, 

Unheeded, to the ground. 



108 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

But a few lived on and ripened, 

With future prospect bright; 
Their rosy cheeks blushed modestly, 

Kissed by the morning light. 
Sad fate ! Those apples on that tree 

This adage old repeat: 
"All things which glitter are not gold"; 

For they were bitter-sweet. 

And thus with mortals here below, 

They bud and live and bloom ; 
But dangers stand on every hand 

To push them to the tomb. 
Young lives in grace and beauty born 

Are withered by a breath ; 
The winds of disappointment leave 

Ambitions cold in death. 

Yet some live on and prosper well, 

While others droop and die ; 
But when old age comes on apace, 

They voice the mournful cry : 
"Why were we brought into the world, 

Misfortunes sad to meet, 
And learn too late that worldly joys 

Are often bitter-sweet?" 

Teach us, the remnant of our days, 

To count the hours that fly ; 
And learn a lesson from the flowers, 

That bud and bloom and die. 
We know not what the morrow brings, 

How short our days and fleet, — 
Help us through life to calmly take 

The bitter with the sweet. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 109 



CLOUDS AND SUNBEAMS. 

When I was a bby of some quite tender years, 

With a heart that was tenderer still, 
I drifted along, with my hopes and my fears, 

Into problems surpassing my skill. 
While exiled one day on the roof of a shed, 

For some trifling misconduct of mine, 
A thunder-storm, gath'ring its force overhead, 

Gave a view of a vision divine. 

A cloud o 'er my heart like the one up above, 
Which shadowed the light of the sun, 

Was shedding its gloom o 'er my filial love, 
For to me a great wrong had been done. 

All earth seemed against me — I felt I must cry- 
But I scarcely had shed a lone tear 

When, stealing a glance at the ominous sky, 
All my grief was dissolved into fear. 

I tho't the Almighty, Whose wrath, people tell, 

Is a thing that we ought to avoid, 
Was kindling the furnaces down there in hell, 

For that I had His angels annoyed. 
Just then came a rift in the cloud, and a beam 

Of the still hidden sun sought the earth ; 
It fell on a spot, as I thought, with a gleam, 

Where my tears and my sorrows had birth. 

In my fond, childish fancy I felt that if I 
Were as good as a child ought to be, 



no THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

I might be permitted to climb to the sky 
On the beam that was held out to me. 

No ties bound to earth, I was willing to go, 
And for a release thought to pray; 

But I scarcely had uttered a half-word or so 
When a cloud snatched that bright beam away. 

Tho' the years have bro't many pangs of regret, 

That are marked with a life-laden sigh, 
The pain of that moment doth cling to me yet 

With its thought — and it shall till I die. 
The sunshine of life, like the brightness of day, 

Is frequently dimmed by a cloud; 
No bright beam of hope comes to drive it away, 

So it shadows our life like a shroud. 

But I have a fixed hope in a merciful God, 

Who plans everything for the best, 
That, after applying the chastening rod, 

He will give me a season of rest; 
And when I behold those bright rays from above, 

Which remove the dark clouds and the night, 
I will hasten to bask in the beams of His love, 

And dwell with the angels of light. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. m 



DRIFTING. 

Drifting and drifting and drifting away, 

Out on the ocean of life, 
'Mid the rolling waves and dashing spray, 

With danger and trouble rife; 
Filled with fear at the mad sea's roar, 

Frightful, and striving to pray, 
A life goes out and is known no more — 

Drifting and drifting away. 

Drifting and drifting and drifting along, 

Mid scenes of pleasure and pain; 
Oft a sad wail, sometimes a glad song, 

Our life is a varied refrain. 
Mourning in sadness, singing for joy, 

Blending the right with the wrong, 
The gold of our life is mixed with alloy — 

Drifting and drifting along. 

Drifting and drifting and drifting away, 
Shut out from life's happy throng, 

Our life is as short as a span or a day, 
And the time must come ere long 

When we shall drift away from the shore, 
Nor anchor nor cable can stay, 

Life's burdens and joys entrammel no more- 
Drifting and drifting away. 

Drifting and drifting and drifting along, 
A light appears to the view; 



ii2 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

'Tis the beacon of gladness and song, 
That shines for me and for you. 

Hope comes to the heart that is broken, 
We brood no more o'er the wrong; 

Far onward we see the bright token — 
Drifting and drifting along. 

Drifting and drifting and drifting away, 

Watch the bright sunlight of love, 
Growing brighter from day unto day, 

A gift sent down from above. 
How it gladdens each pain-laden heart 

That strives its voice to obey! 
May its joys never from us depart — 

Drifting and drifting away. 

Drifting and drifting and drifting away, 

Watching the soul-cheering light; 
In our hearts there is joy, for each ray 

Dispels the darkness of night. 
The signal shines bright on the portal, 

As ends our life's closing day; 
Oh, look to that light! Dying mortal, 

Drift not, oh, drift not away ! 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 113 



LIFE'S CHANGES. 

I sat in my study one bright summer day, 

And saw little children go skipping along. 
How heedlessly moments with them fled away ! 

How merry their hearts and how joyous their song! 
My thoughts, as I saw them, were painful and sad, 

For I felt that too soon their childhood would cease ; 
A few fleeting moments their lives -would be glad, 

And then from earth's cares they would sigh for release. 

I scarce turned my eyes from that summer-day scene 

When I looked once again, but was sorely dismayed, 
For I saw them no more; but where they had been, 

Young men and young women their graces displayed. 
Childhood's sweet pleasures were hidden from view, 

But each, with high hopes centered deep in his heart, 
Only paused to bid neighbors a kindly adieu, 

Nor seemed he to sorrow when forced to depart. 

I watched them again as they passed by the door, 

The remnant now left of that once childish throng; 
No sweet, joyous laughter was heard as of yore — 

In life's dizzy whirl they were hurried along. 
Many, greedy to earn the world's sordid wealth, 

Had battled and struggled until they were gray ; 
While others, discouraged and broken in health, 

Had sunk in the tide and been carried away. 

I paused once again to behold the loved place 
Where children had sported a few days before, 



ii4 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

But a few aged people, with old-fashioned grace, 
Passed slowly alone:, and I saw them no more. 

Of all those bright children, so happy and gay, 
That passed by my study in moments of glee, 

But a few hoary heads now dotted the way, 
The others were wrecked on life's turbulent sea. 



MY SAINTED MOTHER. 

While but a child of youthful years, 

With trifling want and trouble, 
When I was filled with grief and fears, 

Which vanished as a bubble, 
Who clasped me in her loving arms 

And did with kisses smother? 
Who sang to soothe my false alarms? 

My dear, old, sainted mother. 

Time moved apace; at length I grew 

To play with ring and rattle ; 
Those happy days which then I knew, 

Days filled with childish prattle ! 
Who lulled my cares with fond caress, 

My grief, my pain, and bother, 
And with her smile did cheer and bless? 

My kind, old, sainted mother. 

And when I lumbered off to school, 
With sums my brain to addle, 

Or break the dear old teacher's rule, 
Or in the brook to paddle, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 115 

Who always made excuse for me 

By some kind word or other? 
Who caused my boyish grief to flee? 

'Twas my old, sainted mother. 

In after years, on business bent, 

Or seeking giddy pleasure, 
Who was it all her moments spent, 

Nor had a minute's leisure, 
To save me from some foolish plan, 

Some heedless act or other, 
Or stay the downward course I ran? 

My loving, sainted mother. 

Whose gentle ways cling to me still, 

Of all my life the leaven, 
And mould my stubborn, wayward will, 

Tho' she has gone to heaven? 
'Tis hers, sweet friend of other days; 

It could not be another 
Who fills my life with hopeful rays — 

My blessed, sainted mother. 

Now that old age comes on apace, 

I turn to other places ; 
I view once more her smiling face, 

Her loveliness, and graces. 
So when my life shall be complete, 

And I am free from bother, 
In heaven, some day, I hope to meet 

My pure, angelic mother. 



n6 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



LIFE'S HISTORY. 

When the blades of grass are springing, 

And the flowers deck the hill ; 
When the waters, sweetly singing, 

Flow adown the winding rill; 
When the birds to nest are meeting 

And their love-songs fondly sing; 
When the little lambs are bleating — 

Then we hail the coming spring. 

When the fields of grain are waving, 

And the clover is in bloom ; 
When the hills and dells are craving 

For the flowers' sweet perfume ; 
When God's handiworks are singing, 

To resemble heaven's chime — 
Then the summer days are bringing 

The delightful harvest- time. 

When the leaves are turning yellow, 

And the nights are growing cold ; 
When the orchard fruits grow mellow, 

And the grain is tinged with gold; 
When the bees are humming, humming, 

And for honey cease to roam — 
Then that festive time is coming, 

The autumnal harvest-home. 

When the leafless trees are bending 
To the storm's relentless power; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 117 

When the mad north wind is rending 

Each trysting-place and bower; 
When the earth, benumbed, is sleeping, 

And cool breezes chill our veins ; 
When King Frost his watch is keeping — 

Then we know that winter reigns. 

Now, as come the season's changes, 

So come our hopes and fears ; 
For the great wise King arranges 

The four seasons of our years. 
Into summer bright spring merges, 

Pleasant summer into fall; 
Then bleak winter chants the dirges, 

And the grave is heir to all. 

But put off your garb of mourning — 

All the dead shall rise again ; 
Spring returns, with life adorning 

Every barren hill and plain. 
So the grave shall yield its treasure, 

And the risen dead shall sing, 
In a sweet, pure, joyous measure: 

"O Death! where is thy sting?" 



1 18 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



A PLACE OF REST. 

Is there a place from doubtings free, 

Where I can find surcease 
From all the cares which trouble me — 

A calm and perfect peace? 
Where is this long-sought happy land, 

Free from all pain and care? 
Will some kind genii take my hand 

And gently lead me there? 

I fain would quit the haunts of man, 

Leave grief and pain behind, 
To free my soul from Adam's ban, 

Which rests on all mankind. 
Oh, may we not escape that power, 

The curse of God preclude? 
Oh, make me for one pleasant hour 

Free from solicitude ! 

Is there a land where truth had birth, 

By God forever blessed, 
Where weary souls who dwell on earth 

May find eternal rest? 
Some doctrines preach the end is here, 

Where life doth but begin, 
Where all is darkness, doubt and fear, 

And wickedness and sin. 

I cannot bear this man-born thought, 
Which doth my soul oppress. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 119 

Where is the home by Christians sought, 

Free from all wickedness? 
It must not be, most gracious Lord, 

That they in sorrow roam 
Who will receive Thy saving word, 

And seek this promised home. 

Thou hast prepared a dwelling-place, 

A city bright and fair, 
Where we shall see Thy shining face, 

And meet our Savior there. 
Then we shall know as we are known, 

God will cast out our fears, 
And, stooping from the great white throne, 

Shall wipe away our tears. 

There is a mansion in this home, 

Prepared for you and me. 
Where pain and sickness never come, 

From sin and sorrow free. 
Lord, guide our halting steps aright, 

Help us to guard them well, 
That we may make a winning fight, 

In this loved home to dwell. 



i2o THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



TRUTH. 

Where shall I seek this precious pearl, 

Where find this jewel rare? 
Within the gilded halls of wealth, 

Is it discovered there? 
Where lies this hidden shining gem — 

Kind angel, tell to me, 
Where can I find this flawless pearl 

In all its purity? 

I searched among the kings of earth, 

With jewels richly crowned, 
Beseeching them to guide my course 

To where this gem is found; 
But none would lead my steps aright, 

Or heed my cries and tears; 
They left me groveling in the dark, 

Beset with doubts and fears. 

I searched the busy marts of trade, 

With fear and hope combined; 
I sought with zealous diligence 

This lovely gem to find. 
'Twas all in vain; I found it not 

Where jealousies control — 
No room for its effulgent light 

Where vices fill the soul. 

I walked the humbler paths of life, 
Where poverty doth reign; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 121 

I asked the truthful, lowly poor — 

Alas! I sought in vain. 
They told me not where I could fin d 

This gem of priceless worth; 
Some thought it lay beneath the sea, 

Some in the mines of earth. 

I asked deep-learned philosophers, 

Well versed in hidden lore ; 
They promised me an answer true, 

But failed to tell me more. 
I turned to priests and ministers 

In my distress and need, 
To learn from them if this bright gem 

Was found in church or creed. 

I searched and hunted everywhere, 

And yet the gem I sought 
Was found not in kings' palaces 

Nor in the poor man's cot. 
I quit my search in dire despair; 

A voice then said to me : 
"Go search the Bible and you'll find 

This pearl of purity." 

I took the Scripture for my guide, 

I pressed it to my heart, 
I learned its precepts, and from them 

I care not to depart. 
I 'm happy now that I have found 

This gem of priceless worth, 
Which wise men sought in Bethlehem 

When Jesus Christ had birth. 



122 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Come, all ye nations of the earth, 

And hear the written word ; 
Accept Him as your gracious King, 

Your Savior, Master, Lord. 
Possess this sacred gem called Truth, 

And wear it all your days; 
Follow this shining, guiding light — 

Hear what the Master says : 

"I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, 

The world may come to me; 
I gave my life, my blood was shed, 

To set the nations free." 
Oh, wondrous, great, and lasting Truth 

What joy to us is brought ! 
Thou art the precious, sacred gem 

Thru all the ages sought. 



THE HEAVENLY LAND. 

Beautiful land, where the sweet-scented flowers 

Send forth their perfumes all the year ; 
The birds sing their songs in the cool, shady bowers, 

The days are not chilly nor drear. 
The night with its shades never visits that land, 

And the sun never ceases to shine ; 
The dwellers therein are a peace-loving band, 

And controlled by a Ruler divine. 

No sickness nor sorrow appears in that place, 
No death scenes within it are found ; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 123 

No spirit of wickedness there to disgrace, 

Rich pleasures eternal abound. 
In that country are heard no heart-breaking sighs, 

While the years of eternity roll; 
No obstacles rise to becloud the clear skies, 

Nor burden the blood-ransomed soul. 

The ever-green trees, gently swayed by the breeze, 

Make music delightful to hear; 
The lovely surroundings are fashioned to please, 

Not offending the sensitive ear. 
All the people who dwell in that city above, 

Whose faces with radiance beam, 
Are guided and led by the Ruler's great love, 

That flows like a pure, crystal stream. 

Would you moor life's bark in that haven of rest, 

Safe anchored from sorrow and care? 
Or dwell in that land the Savior has blessed, 

That counrry most lovely and fair? 
Then walk in the path of the humble and meek, 

Submit to the scourge of the rod; 
Possess the great pearl all should ardently seek — 

The smile of a merciful God. 



i2 4 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



HEAVENLY LIGHT. 

Bleak winter rests upon my head, 
But spring eternal fills my heart; 

Along Truth's pathway I am led; 
I have with Christ an owner's part. 

My soul ascends on eagle's wings; 

I long to meet with spirits bright; 
And oh, the comfort which it brings 

When I am led by heavenly light! 

Our faith grows stronger as we pass 
Along life's way and older grow; 

For though old age our souls harass, 
We triumph over grief and woe. 

We struggle hard for earthly things, 
We eat and drink and fondly love ; 

But carnal joy no comfort brings, 
Nor leads our minds to things above. 

Oh, weary, wandering, burdened soul! 

Look up and see yon guiding star, 
Which leads us up to heaven's goal, 

Where sin and sorrow cannot mar. 

No trouble weighs our spirit down, 
Nor binds it fast with galling chain ; 

But there the righteous wear a crown, 
And live because the Lamb was slain. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 125 

Oh ! come and at this fountain drink — 

At this life-giving spring of youth ; 
Nor linger, shivering, on the brink. 

But launch into a sea of truth. 

Dwell in the sunshine of the Lord, 

Forsake the dark and dreary night; 
His name be everywhere adored, 

Who lifts us up to heavenly light. 



A KINGLY CROWN. 

I am heir to a throne of jasper and gold, 

A king of a realm bright and fair ; 
Some day I shall dwell in the heavenly fold, 

Away from all Sorrow and care. 
And when I draw near to that beautiful land, 

The sheaves of the harvest to bring, 
The Savior will give me a welcoming hand 

And make me an heir and a king. 

The angels will sing and the heavens resound 
For Him that for rebels was slain ; 

That a sinner, redeemed, was lost, but is found- 
Returned to his kingdom again. 

I will eat of the fruits and drink at the springs 
Which flow through the city above, 

And praise my Redeemer who salvation brings 
Thru the strength of His brotherly love. 



126 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

I shall never grow weary, be always at rest, 

In the cycles that have not an end ; 
I shall lean on the arm and rest on the breast 

Of Jesus, my Savior and Friend. 
When thousands of ages have glided away, 

My voice in loud praises shall ring ; 
I loudly shall shout thru an unending day: 

"I am heir to a throne and a King!" 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 

"All aboard!" the Conductor invitingly cries, 

"Aboard" for the bright Golden Gate. 
This train, well equipped for a trip to the skies, 

Leaves early, nor ever is late. 
The passengers carried are justified men, 

Who travel thru storm and thru calm; 
Its running-time schedule surpasses our ken — 

'Tis sealed by the blood of the Lamb. 

It travels broad plains, passes beautiful scenes, 

Prepared by the owner for you ; 
And if you are faithful, no cloud intervenes 

To hide the Conductor from view. 
The time-table used is the Scripture of old, 

Which marks neither stop nor delay ; 
When going aboard, you are quietly told 

To watch and unceasingly pray. 

The engine is manned by a great Engineer, 
Who worked out a soul-saving plan ; 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 1 27 

Unto Him the lost souls of sinners were dear, 

The saving of poor, fallen man. 
He handles the lever with wisdom and care; 

'Tis pleasant to ride on His train ; 
The traveler who journeys need never despair, 

At the end there is gladness again. 

The trip which you take on this wonderful road, 

Thru repentance, is boundless and free ; 
Hear you the loved voice from the Master's abode, 

Sweetly calling to you and to me? 
O poor fallen man! will you take the reward 

The Conductor is longing to give? 
'Twill fill you with pain if you are debarred 

From the saints' holy city to live. 

This train carries passengers safe to the shore 

Of a country surpassingly fair, 
Where trouble and sorrow torment us no more, 

Nor cometh not sickness nor care. 
Oh! sinner, saved sinner, get onto the cars 

And journey with Him to the end; 
No temptation troubles, nor accident mars, 

With Him your Conductor and Friend. 

See the white light which shines on the portal, 

Held out by a dear, loving hand; 
Its bright beams are to guide thee, O mortal, 

To the joys of that heavenly land. 
We draw near the city, we see the broad street, 

We view the Conductor's estate; 
Safe home He has brought us, we fall at His feet, 

And sweep thru the bright Golden Gate. 



128 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



IF I WERE A MAN. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 

And a boy should question me 
About those things he had heard or seen 

On land or the deep blue sea, 
Or vessel, or train, or auto, or plane, 

I would answer in such a way 
It would make his childish heart to bound, 

A smile o'er his face to play. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 

When the holidays drew near, 
I would purchase my boy the finest toy 

For the Christmas and New Year. 
A chest of tools and a spinning top too, 

So that he could work or play ; 
And during the winter's frost and snow 

He should have a handsome sleigh. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 

I would try to understand 
What pleases a little boy best of all, 

And place it within his hand. 
If it were a book or a hobby-horse, 

A drum, or a bat and ball, 
I 'd see that he had what he wanted most, 

If only a home-made doll. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 
And a boy to the circus went, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 129 

I 'd think of the day, long passed away, 

When I crawled beneath the tent 
To see the giraffe and the elephant, 

And the clown with painted face, 
And the mule that the boys all tried to ride, 

And the Shetland pony race. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 

And a boy would questions ask, 
I would answer him with a pleasant smile 

And assist him with his task ; 
I would strive in an earnest, hearty way, 

In a gentle voice and kind, 
To supply him with the important facts 

To improve his youthful mind. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 

I would not frown on a boy; 
But instead I would do the best I could 

To enhance his every joy. 
I would sympathize with his childish grief, 

And his troubles strive to stay ; 
And tho' I were rilled with sorrow and pain, 

I would wipe his tears away. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 

I'd be a boy with the boys; 
I 'd join in their fun and frolics as well, 

And share in their grief and joys. 
I'd never grow old, or crabbed or cross, 

Nor tire of innocent fun ; 
I 'd be as jolly as the best of them, 

Till the race of life was run. 



130 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man, 

And a boy of mine did stray 
Away from the path of truth and right, 

I 'd not forsake him tho' his stay 
With the filthy swine and husks was long, 

And repentance came but slow; 
"As the twig is bent the tree is inclined," 

And he would return I know. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a man- 
Yet the "if" is in the way; 

But the passing years fly rapidly, 
And the time will come some day 

When I shall show the men of to-day 
What I will accomplish then; 

For wonderful things shall come to pass 
When the boys become the men. 



IF I WERE A BOY. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a boy, 

If the time would backward flow, 
I would gladly stay as young as I was 

In the days of the long ago ; 
For I have borne all the sorrow and pain, 

Disappointment, grief, and fears 
Which come to the one who is doomed to meet 

The troubles of manhood's years. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a boy, 
With the knowledge I have gained, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 131 

I would have no wish to become a man, 

With a conscience dulled and stained, 
But my wish would be to continue young, 

Nor join in the world's mad strife, 
And my thought would be forever to live 

A happy and boyish life. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a boy, 

I would pass the hours away 
Indulging in every innocent sport 

And every childish play. 
I would never bestow one longing thought 

How the sands in the hour-glass ran ; 
I would hope that the day was far away 

When I would become a man. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a boy, 

And feeling as I now feel, 
Having learned the way of the world so well 

And its tendency to deal 
Unfairly, to gain an advantage short, 

As a mortal's briefest span, 
I would turn again to my childish play, 

Nor want to become a man. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a boy, 

With the insight I possess 
Of the parents' grief if the children rush 

Into vice and wickedness, 
I would strive to undo the foolish deeds 

I'd done in my youthful past, 
And prove to them that their prayers had been 

Like bread on the waters cast. 



132 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a boy- 

But why should I speculate? 
To be a boy once in his complete life 

Is a boy's predestined fate; 
And the worst of it is, he cannot change 

One whit from his Maker's plan; 
He must move forward until he becomes 

That thing which is called "a man." 

I have sometimes thought, if I were a boy, 

And knew what was held in store — 
But the little word "if" is in the way, 

As many have learned before ; 
It is in the way and is bound to stay, 

So I shall do what I can 
To show all the boys I am young in heart, 

Although I 'm an aged man. 



A FRAGMENT. 

"The Flag of our Union forever!" 

Unfurl its rich folds to the breeze 
Until by our sacred endeavor 

We are free to sail over the seas; 
Till each shall adore the loved banner 

That puts all oppression to flight ; 
Till all shall admit that "Old Glory" 

Is the emblem of God-given right. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 133 



THE COMING MORN. 

When the clouds are hanging heavy, and the times are sad 

and drear; 
When the days are damp and chilly, and no sunlight comes 

to cheer; 
When your money has departed, and your friends have quickly 

gone; 
When your former great exertions you no longer lean upon ; 
When the busy world of action has no room for such as you ; 
When the pleasant things of this life have departed as the dew ; 
When the darkness is the darkest, just before the dawn of day — 
Will the breaking of the morning drive the moving clouds away ? 

When your youthful aspirations have been shattered by a 

breath ; 
When unsatisfied ambitions have been doomed to instant 

death ; 
When your reputation's injured, casting doubt upon your 

name; 
When you pass adown the hillside, and no longer wish for fame ; 
When your dearest hopes are blasted; when your acts are 

misconstrued ; 
When you know that friendships broken can at no time be 

renewed ; 
When you feel sad and disheartened; when your spirit brave 

is cowed — 
Will the coming of the morning chase away the hanging cloud? 

When misfortune's cruel winepress squeezes to the very dregs ; 
When the soul bowed down with trouble for mercy loudly begs ; 



134 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

When environments compel us Of the bitter cup to drink; 
When the billows overwhelm us, in the rolling waves we sink; 
When all torn and bruised and mangled in the world's uneven 

fight; 
When denounced, abused, berated for defending truth and 

right; 
When false criticisms crush us, and we hasten to our doom — 
Will the coming of the morning disperse the gathering gloom? 

When we weary of the actions of the giddy, foolish throng; 
When the wicked seem to flourish, and the thoughtless do 

us wrong; 
When we feel depressed and lonely, and our friends against 

us turn; 
When the envious persecute us and our kindly actions spurn ; 
When the days are long and dreary, and we are sore distressed ; 
When we drop life's heavy burden, and cry out for endless rest; 
When grim Death, the liberator, breaks the world's unenvied 

sway — 
Then the glories of the morning drive the passing clouds away ! 



BLESSED HOPE. 

When the sky of my life is with clouds overcast, 
When I fear that my troubles forever will last, 
Then Hope, blessed Hope, my sure anchor and stay, 
Comes to my relief and removes them away ; 
So when I am burdened with sorrow and pain, 
Which dash like the billows that break on the main, 
As the star that leads the lone trav'ler at night, 
Hope comes to my aid and directs me aright. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 135 

Thru life's bitter scenes, as the older I grow, 
Hope shines like a star with a far brighter glow ; 
And while I sojourn thru a country like this, 
Its rays to my soul bring sweet comfort and bliss. 
When sickness and sorrow shall call upon me, 
And I from their clutches shall strive to be free, 
Then Hope, blessed Hope, bids me never despair, 
And points to a home free from trouble and care. 

When my last hour comes, and I grapple with Death, 

The song I shall sing with my last fleeting breath 

Shall be that sweet Hope to mortals was given 

To lead them from earth to the portals of heaven. 

When I pass thru the gate with the great ransomed throng , 

I shall praise my Redeemer in triumphant song, 

Till the echoes resound thru the realms of the blest, 

For Hope anchored safe in the haven of rest. 



LOST TREASURES. 

Lost, lost a precious string of pearls of countless, endless worth, 
Owned by the human family since fleeting Time had birth. 
Not all the pearls found in the sea, nor diamonds in each crown, 
In value will compare with them or weigh these jewels down. 
Pale opals, rubies, amethysts, stones valued, rich and rare, 
Nor priceless jeweled diadems can with these pearls compare; 
No computation known to man, no human-planned device, 
Can place an estimate on them or figure out their price. 

Monarchs would give their empires up, and kings their kingly 

sway, 
To hold again the precious gems they, careless, cast away. 



i 3 6 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Strewn far and wide on every hand, rejected, stolen, strayed, 
Unheeded by the rich and poor, with careless hand mislaid, 
These precious pearls have wasted been by man in every land, 
Viewed as possessing little worth, destroyed with ruthless hand; 
Yet to possess them once again men offer countless gold — 
In value they would trade for them an hundred thousand fold. 
The saddest action of our life is when we count the cost 
Of all these jewels thrown away, of all these diamonds lost. 
Oh! we would give our all of earth, all fame and honors spurn, 
If at the last we then could have these wasted pearls return. 
Father Time ! be kind to us, return these treasures gone ; 
Give back what we have spurned before eternity shall dawn. 
We beg — yea, on our knees implore — and yet we ask in vain; 
The moments which are thrown away will not return again. 

OVER THE SEA. 

My little boy played at horse one day, 

As he laughed and shouted for glee ; 
And he fixed the chairs and played away, 

As he prattled and talked to me; 
And he said: " Papa, you may take a chair, 

For the trip to all is free ; 
It takes not long; we will soon be there, 

To a land far over the sea." 

So I mounted a chair and rocked and sang 

Till he shouted aloud for joy. 
His childish heart never felt a pang, 

'Twas pleasure without alloy. 
Then I told him of folk of olden-time 

Of high and lowly degree; 
I sang him a song in childish rhyme 

Of a land far over the sea. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 137 

So we rode along with shout and cry- 
All over the parlor floor, 

And a joyous light refilled my eye — 
I had played that way before. 

When a romping boy, 'twas childish bliss, 
A pleasure of pleasures, to be 

Where I could ride on a chair like this 
To a land far over the sea. 

My little boy shouted, laughed, and whipped, 

The horses galloped and pranced, 
As over the parlor floor we skipped, 

Our hearts with merriment danced; 
So joyously onward still we rode, 

Happy, light-hearted, and free, 
Traveling on to a pleasant abode, 

To a land far over the sea. 

But now I weep and sorrow and sigh, 

My boy forever is gone; 
My heart gives out a desolate cry ; 

I travel life's journey alone. 
Death has stolen the flower away 

The Gardener presented to me; 
It journeyed far, one sorrowful day, 

To a land far over the sea. 

Weep not, my heart, nor be thou sad — 

On earth I know him no more; 
But the thought ever maketh me glad, 

My boy has gone on before. 
Now he is waiting, waiting up there, 

And calling and calling to me: 
"Papa, dear papa, lovely and fair 

Is this land far over the sea." 



1 38 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 



SUMMER DAYS. 

Oh, summer days! Sweet summer days! 

Such as I spent in childhood's hours, 
Wandering o'er the meadows green, 

Or resting 'neath the shady bowers; 
Come back again to me once more, 

With all your joyous, fervent glow ; 
Return once more, O summer days ! 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 

Oh, summer days ! Sweet summer days ! 

The birds that sang the trees among 
Were richer phimaged, and their voice 

Was then attuned to sweeter song. 
The honey treasured by the bees, 

Gleaned as they flitted to and fro, 
Was sweeter in those summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 

Oh, summer days! Sweet summer days! 

The flowers blooming on the hill 
Gave forth a far more sweet perfume; 

The stream flowed clearer by the mill ; 
The cows that grazed along its banks 

At eve returned, sedate and slow, 
In evening of those summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 

Oh, summer days ! Sweet summer days ! 
The apples rip'ning on the trees 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 139 

Grew larger, had much sweeter taste, 

They courted every gentle breeze; 
The storm that swept o'er treeless plain 

To us did more majestic grow, 
In those our dear, loved summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 

Oh, summer days! Sweet summer days! 

To pluck the berries growing wild, 
To chase the squirrel through the wood, 

To romp again as when a child, 
I 'd give up every thought of wealth, 

Refuse all riches here below, 
To live once more those summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 

Oh, summer days ! Sweet summer days ! 

Might I again become a boy, 
I'd drink of endless springs of youth, 

Your long-past pleasures to enjoy. 
Oh, e'er-remembered childhood days ! 

Give me your joys again to know. 
Return, loved, happy summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago ! 

Oh, summer days! Sweet summer days! 

I never more can call you mine; 
Though you are gone ne'er to return, 

I may not murmur nor repine. 
In pensive mood my thoughts recall, 

In gentle accents, soft and low, 
The voices of those summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 



140 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Oh, summer days! Sweet summer days! 

But all my longing is in vain ; 
Those golden hours I loved so well 

To me can not return again. 
No more these good old times to share, 

These joyous scenes no more to know- 
Good-bye, good-bye, loved summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago ! 



MOTHERS LOVE. 

The poet may sing of the op'ning spring, 

Of the beautiful days of May, 
Of the buds and blossoms they will bring 

When the snows are melted away. 
Soldiers have taught of the battles fought, 

Of the blood that was freely shed ; 
Of the sorrows brought and the havoc wrought, 

Of the fields that were strewn with dead. 

Travelers may tell of all that befell, 

When wandering the world around, 
Of the poor who in poverty dwell, 

Or of seeing a ruler crowned. 
The love-sick swain may sing a refrain 

Of a loved one night and morn, 
Chanting his love again and again, 

As a passion of heaven born. 

The lover of God may kiss the rod, 
And tell of its chastening power, 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 141 

The holy love which is shed abroad 

In his bosom from hour to hour. 
I speak of a love that is from above, 

By the Heavenly Father blest; 
I sing of a mother's endless love, 

The purest and sweetest and best. 



WELCOME, SPRING. 

Welcome, balmy days of spring, 
When the birds their carols sing, 

You are here ! 
Peeping from beneath the sod, 
Buttercups and goldenrod 

Wake to cheer! 
The violets, with welcome gaze, 
Meet the sun's effulgent rays 

Without fear. 

Robin red-breast seeks his mate, 
Calling early, calling late : 

''Come, love, come! 
I am waiting, dear, on you, 
Vows of true love to renew, 

In our home ! 
Singing merry, charming lays, 
Together thru the nesting days 

Let us roam." 

Buzzing 'round the budding trees, 
Note the humming of the bees — 
Hear them sing. 



142 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Searching meadows thru and thru, 
When the sun dries off the dew — 

Sweetness bring! 
Store in cell and winding maze 
Honey for the winter days, 

In the spring. 

Every living, moving thing 
Getting ready for the spring, 

Don't you see? 
Nature dons her vernal dress, 
Brings for all a fond caress, 

Given free! 
We should join in hymns of praise, 
Singing through the balmy days, 

You and me. 

Man, created lord and king, 
Should a grateful tribute bring, 

All day long! 
Thankful for the time to sow, 
Thanks on Nature's God bestow, 

Clear and strong ! 
Let each heart with fervor raise 
Sonnets praising springtime days, 

In sweet song. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 143 



THE STORY OF THE WIND. 

Tell me, O Wind, your wanton tale! 

Why do you weep and sigh? 
Why, with a sad and mournful wail, 

Breathe out your life and die? 
Can you not sing some happy strains 

Of other lands than ours, 
Where lovely summer always reigns, 

And ever-blooming flowers? 

The lovely isle, the peopled main, 

Where bustling cities stand, 
Have listened to the moaning strain 

You sing in every land; 
But as you run your constant race 

Onward and never cease, 
Have you not found some quiet place, 

Where reigns eternal peace? 

You onward move o'er land and sea, 

Where ocean billows foam; 
Where cooling breezes fan the lea, 

Your footsteps gently roam. 
Can you not name some shady nook, 

With peace and quiet blessed, 
Near babbling stream or purling brook, 

Where weary ones may rest? 

Your pathway leads o'er all the earth, 
All climes have felt your breath ; 



144 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

You rage, destruction has its birth, 
And in your path is death. 

Can you not tell, who journey far, 
And foreign shores caress, 

Is there on earth no guiding star 
That leads to happiness? 

"Nay, foolish mortal, ask me not 

Where peace and quiet reign; 
For 'tis each mortal's fateful lot 

To suffer grief and pain. 
Tho' life may last for threescore years, 

Thy portion still must be 
To meet with pain, to quake with fears, 

While sailing o'er life's sea." 

But still there is a glorious light 

To weaiy mortals given, 
Which drives away the somber night, 

And leads the soul to heaven. 
Tho' grief and pain bring sad distress, 

Release shall come from them ; 
Take this sure guide to happiness, 

"The Star of Bethlehem." 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 145 



WEARING A MASK. 

Behind a mask each living soul 

Is lurking in disguise, 
Preparing for its future goal, 

Deciding ill or wise. 
Masks have ever been the shield 

To cloak each vile intent, 
Since sin and wickedness had birth, 

And sordid sentiment. 

If every mask from face was torn 

And from each sinful heart, 
If truth should every brow adorn, 

How pleasant then the part! 
Grave secrets now in caskets closed 

Its searching light would feel ; 
The kings of earth would be deposed 

And to the lowly kneel. 

The honest man would take high place, 

The rich and proud would fall, 
And some who dwell in wretched want 

Would live in gilded hall. 
He who has grasped another's wealth 

Would restitution make, 
While others, steeped in guilt and wrong, 

Would sin and shame forsake. 

Usurpers then would yield their place, 
And Nature's kings would reign ; 



146 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

Each truthful man, with noble grace, 

His rightful place regain. 
This world would be a heaven below, 

All fraud be trodden down, 
And "Truth" would be the grand device 

To decorate each crown. 



CLOSER THAN A BROTHER. 

I once had a doggie called Pompey, 

Playmate to my wee darling boy, 
And often his tricks and his antics 

Would all my spare moments employ. 
Wherever my darling boy wandered, 

Old Pompey you, also, would meet; 
And when my boy slept, being weary, 

Old Pompey was found at his feet. 

My wee boy was lost in the forest, 

Whose maple trees bent to the wind; 
Where the ash, the elm, and the birches 

With mosses and ivy were lined. 
We prayed and we searched and we fretted, 

But all of our efforts were vain ; 
And still we kept longing and wishing 

To find our wee darling again. 

A barking was heard in the distance, 
With cadence sweet striking the ear; 

We knew it was Pompey proclaiming : 
"I 'm watching; have never a fear." 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 147 

Just then we discovered my darling; 

On Pompey he pillowed his head, 
Safe resting in innocent childhood, 

Asleep on a soft, leafy bed. 

If you see a dog looking friendless, 

Aimlessly wandering alone, 
Oh! do not abuse and ill treat him, 

But give him a bite or a bone. 
Man ! Man ! let humanity guide you ! 

Inscribe it in memory's ''log": 
"When sorrow and trouble betide you, 

Man's very best friend is his dog." 



BLANCHE OF INNISVALE. 

Bleak Winter, with its cold and snow, 

The wind with mournful sound, 
Appears my inmost thoughts to know, 

And, coldly stealing 'round 
My heart, a dirge of sadness sings — 

A mourning, doleful wail, 
Whose moaning cadence memory brings 

Of Blanche of Innisvale. 

The Winter's snows will melt away, 

The frost will leave the earth; 
Dame Nature moves, without delay, 

The springtime has its birth. 
It comes with bud, and bulb and leaf, 

And flowers, to deck the dale; 
But nothing can assuage my grief 

For Blanche of Innisvale. 



148 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

The Summer, with its ripening grain 

And luscious fruit abounds 
To cheer may heart, but all in vain; 

A mournful cry resounds 
Within my soul, filled is my heart 

With a regretful wail, 
Which tells me I was forced to part 

From Blanche of Innisvale. 

The Autumn, with its garnered sheaves, 

Its fading summer flowers, 
And yellow-tinted falling leaves, 

Makes bare the shady bowers. 
It shows decay and loss must be, 

Sad loss without avail ; 
For who shall give her back to me, 

My Blanche of Innisvale. 

The changing seasons come and go — 

Sweet hope buoys up my soul — 
A thought steals o'er my fancy, slow, 

Of long-sought happy goal, 
Where, with the one I fondly love, 

In some secluded dale 
I there shall live, and love, and move 

With Blanche of Innisvale. 

Oh, for those moments how I sigh! 

And shall till latest breath 
Must leave this house of clay and I 

Am cold and still in death. 
My drooping spirit will not rest, 

I mourn without avail, 
And sigh for her I love the best, 

Dear Blanche of Innisvale. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 149 



ROSALINDA. 

I am watching from the window as the sunset 

Paints the western sky and clouds a ruddy hue ; 
While I gaze upon the beauties of the picture 

I am thinking of the happy days we knew. 
I recall the pleasant moments, long departed, 

How we strolled beneath the maples to and fro ; 
How the story of our love was oft repeated ; 

How your rosy cheeks with blushes were aglow. 

Often, I recall, in the quiet of the twilight, 

Our promises were given to be leal and true; 
Now, as the shades of darkness creep around me, 

I am thinking of the happy days we knew. 
I am wond'ring if the past brings secret sorrow, 

If those long-departed days you oft recall ; 
And as I think of other days I fancy 

We together drink the wormwood and the gall. 

The night has come and blotted out the picture, 

Teardrops trickle down as falls the evening dew; 
As with deep regret my soul is often crowded, 

I am thinking of the happy days we knew. 
Have all those happy moments been forgotten? 

Has that loving picture faded from your mind? 
Has the love you once professed for me departed? 

Is there not left one lingering spark behind ? 

Long years have intervened since last we parted, 
Time has erased the picture from our view ; 



150 THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 

But yet, as there lingers now one ray of sunlight, 
I am thinking of the happy days we knew. 

Could I walk again beneath the spreading maples 
And behold your cheeks with blushes all aglow, 

As I whispered in your ear the tale of true love — 
That would be a limning of a heaven below. 



GATHERING HOME. 

There comes to me gently sweet thots of the past, 

The days of my youth I am prone to review ; 
I wish that this dream of my childhood would last, 

Recalling those loved ones my infancy knew. 
They pass through my mind like a ray of pure light- 

This beautiful theme, 'tis the one of my choice, 
Tho long, weary years have taken their flight, 

I see the dear faces and hear each sweet voice. 

My loving old mother, best friend of my youth, 

E 'en now I recall with what exquisite grace 
She led my young mind in the pathway of truth, 

As smiles that were heavenly lighted her face. 
No words can paint truly her last loving kiss, 

Its lingering fondness I ne 'er shall forget — 
How oft it returns, bringing sadness with bliss ! 

It burned on my lips, it is burning there yet. 

How well I can picture my father's loved face! 

His half -hidden smile even now I behold; 
The maxims he gave us with old-fashoined grace 

Were pictures of silver with apples of gold. 



THE SWORD UNSHEATHED. 151 

How great was the pleasure to hear his kind voice ! 

Sedately we hearkened to all that he said; 
To follow his teachings were wisdom's first choice, 

And happy are those whom his precepts have led. 

The loved ones at home I behold as of yore ; 

Around the old hearth in the fast-fading light, 
Gathering there where we shall gather no more, 

And telling strange stories far into the night. 
But now we are scattered in far-distant lands, 

The days of our childhood are pictured in vain ; 
Affections grow weaker and severed the bands, 

We shall meet here together, no never again. 

A hope comes to me in this day-dream of mine, 

That altho' to far distant lands we may roam, 
Some kind, loving spirit at last will incline 

Our wandering footsteps to seek a new home. 
Not a home where meetings and partings prevail, 

Where the heart with pain and sorrow is riven, 
But a home which death cannot mar nor assail, 

Where we may dwell with our dear ones in heaven. 



